


The Intern

by Pthithia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Law firms, M/M, Minor OC - Freeform, Slow Burn, Underage amis, internships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5862151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is the personal secretary to one of the best lawyers in Paris, and his life is okay. Well, he's not using his art degree for anything but those late night doodles, and his social life (or lack thereof) is depressing, but it's not so bad. He's not an alcoholic or druggie anymore. He's dealt with his depression. He even has an okay, well-paying job at an outstanding law firm in Paris. So, overall, he's not got a lot to complain about. </p><p>That is, until the new intern arrives. That he has to personally chaperone. </p><p>Who is also underage.</p><p>And gorgeous/sexy as the sun.</p><p>Also, his boss' little brother.</p><p>Excellent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me in a dream. Blame my unconscious brain for this. Daniel told me it was okay, so I'm posting it anyway. Enjoy!

Grantaire is the personal secretary to one of the best lawyers in Paris, and his life is okay. Well, he's not using his art degree for anything but those late night doodles, and his social life (or lack thereof) is depressing, but it's not so bad. He's not an alcoholic or druggie anymore. He's dealt with his depression. He even has an okay, well-paying job at an outstanding law firm in Paris. So, overall, he's not got a lot to complain about.

He's sitting at his desk outside his boss' office, retyping some shit report about what seems like a really unfair case taking place the next day, when the boss himself breezes past into his office without a word. Which is unusual. No matter the day, he always takes a second to smile and wish his scruffy, tattooed secretary a good morning. Grantaire takes a chance and ducks his head around the door.

His boss is a nice guy. Not the boss of the whole office, of course (that role goes to a higher-up guy on the chain named Madeline or Fauchelevant, depending on the day). But his boss, one of the firm's best lawyers, is certainly up there as well. His name is Olivier de Lemaire, and he's quite young (somewhere in his mid twenties), the son of one of the richest, most powerful families in all of France. Judging from his dark hair and dark, serious eyes, he's definitely his father's son. But he's much kinder by far than either of his parents, even in their public bourgeoisie image.

"Hey, Lemaire," he called into the office, "you alright today?"

Lemaire looked up from his desk, where he'd dramatically slammed his head down on his crossed arms. "Yeah, just got some... interesting news this morning. Actually," he sat straight up and shoved his scattered papers aside, "this concerns you too, Grantaire. Do you have a moment?"

"Sure." Grantaire rolled his chair back to his desk and hit 'save' on the (fucking THIRD) draft and strolled into the office, feeling oddly like he was there to see the principal or something. He shifted on his feet and tugged at the collar of his button-down as Lemaire shifted some papers aimlessly, his hair looking wilder than normal.

Finally he sighed and looked up. "So, Grantaire," he began, pausing for a moment. "It looks like my division of the office is getting an intern."

'That's it?' Grantaire thought. 'All this freaking out over an intern?' Lemaire had had several interns before in his short time here. Hell, Grantaire started out as an intern. Fauchelevant's daughter, Cosette, was an intern now. "Okay," he said cautiously. "And..?"

Lemaire sighed again. "He's seventeen, and he'll be starting here in two days. As he's in my division, and I've got this massive case coming up that I can't exactly skip out on, he's going to have to be your responsibility."

Okay, that wasn't ideal, but it wasn't too bad. "Alright. I think I can handle a seventeen year old intern, if that's what you're worried about-"

"No," Lemaire cuts him off, "that's not what I'm worried about. I'm sure you could handle a seventeen year old intern- if it were anyone else." Grantaire stays silent. "See," Lemaire continues, "the intern is my brother."

Woah. Okay. Rewind. "What?" Grantaire asks. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Mmmm," he grunts. "That's surprising. Enjolras is... not exactly a discreet person."

"What do you mean?"

"He's... very political. Passionate. You remember that riot last year outside that private school in the center of the city?"

"Yeah."

"My brother was the leader of the student revolt." Lemaire rolls his eyes. "He's always been a rebel, quick to question authority, never one to blindly follow the person in charge. Which is good," he interjects, "but not always necessary. Enjolras is a difficult kid, and I need your word that he won't try and take down the government starting from the inside of Madeline's law firm."

"Alright," Grantaire said. "I think I can try."

"Thanks, that's everything. Oh, and I need that report from Bahorel by noon."

"I can get it now."

"You're the best, Grantaire," he called after him.

"I know."

*

That Monday morning Grantaire got an email from Lemaire at promptly 7:38: Meet me outside the building by the west fountain at 9!

Jogging on his way out of his flat, coat and folder file tucked under his arm, he made it to the office with a leisurely seven minutes to drop off his things at his desk and make it outside.

"Grantaire!" a voice called as soon as he stepped outside. He whipped around to see Lemaire standing on the curb, near where the side street began.

"Morning Lemaire," he said, strolling over to stand beside him as they watched the street, Enjolras' file in hand.

"Good morning, Grantaire. I don't have a lot of time to talk; I need to be at the courthouse by 9:45, but I needed to give you some last minute instructions regarding the new intern."

"Your brother."

"Yes." Lemaire checked his watch. "He should be here by 9:20. Make sure you show him to his desk, get him oriented, and try and make him feel as welcome as possible. When I get back later I'll take him to meet Fauchelevant."

"Understood," Grantaire nodded. "It shouldn't be too hard to get him started working, I've got plenty to do and Bahorel needs the review of the Agélaie case."

"Excellent. Oh, and one more thing!" Lemaire added as a yellow taxi pulled up in front of them. He picked up his briefcase and coat. "When you see him, try to stay calm!"

Grantaire froze. "What does that mean?"

"It'll take your breath away at first, but don't let that distract you!" Lemaire flung open the door and climbed in.

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Just stay strong!" was all Lemaire said, and just like that the taxi pulled away and Grantaire was alone.

He shook his head and walked over to the fountain, flipping open the file in his hand. The first task he'd set to the kid would be fact checking Bossuet's latest case summary; quick, easy starting work for the first day on the job. At least it would leave him a couple of quiet hours to finish Bahorel's review before he wrung his neck. Over the splashing of the fountain he heard a car pull up behind him. He turned around and tucked the papers away, running a hand through his dark, curly hair.

The sun glinted down on the cab, making it hard to see much of anything in the bright light. One of the doors in the back swung open, and a person stepped out with their back to Grantaire. He stepped closer to the car and watched as the person rounded the back of the cab.

Grantaire stopped short as the other guy lifted his head to look up at Grantaire. Lemaire's words from earlier rung in his head: *It'll take your breath away at first...* And suddenly everything made sense.

The blonde teen with exceptional cheekbones looked up and oh - well, he had a nice jawline too. And blue eyes that put the night stars to shame. Grantaire wanted to bite his pretty red lips until they bled and leave just enough hickeys along his lily-white collarbone to hear the little noises he might make.

Well, that escalated fast.

He was a Greek God: Adonis, Dionysus- no, Apollo. His long, curly gold hair created a halo around his head as he walked closer.

"Good morning," he said, the hint of a smile on his perfect mouth.

Grantaire thanked God as he realized his mouth was not gaping open, as he had thought. "Um, good morning." He mentally smacked himself and held put a hand to the younger man, who took it and shook. His hands were stronger and rougher than they appeared, signs of a hard worker. "You must be Monsieur de Lemaire."

"Please, just call me Enjolras. And you are?" He arched one perfect eyebrow.

"Sorry, I'm Hugo de Grantaire: call me Grantaire. I'm personal secretary to Monsieur de Lemaire. Uh, the other one. While he's on his current case I'll be your chaperone around the office."

"I see." Enjolras' annoying, almost-smile looked too seductive on him at present (oh god, he should not be thinking these things about his BOSS' UNDERAGE BROTHER).

"Ahem. If you'll just follow me inside, we can get started."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet two more of our darling Amis ( with vague references to a few others) and learn a little more about Grantaire's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is unbeta'd. Enjoy!

"Okay, so this is going to be your desk here. The break room is down the left hall and the third door on the left."

Grantaire nervously fidgeted as he showed Enjolras around their floor of the building, directing him to the most important rooms.

Enjolras nodded, his intense blue eyes completely serious and focused on Grantaire's every word. It was a bit awkward, as Enjolras was one or two inches taller than Grantaire, so he had to look down to talk to him. "And where's your desk, Monsieur Grantaire?" A smile just barely evaded his lips, as if he were entertaining some inside joke known only to himself.

Grantaire tore his eyes away from Enjolras’ intense gaze. "Over here," he answered, rounding the cubicle's corner and pointing at the desk right outside Lemaire's main office. "Fair warning," he added, "that I can see most of the office from where my desk is, including you, and if I see anything out of place my orders are to report it to your brother or security."

"Note taken," Enjolras said, that same evasive smile threatening to show. "So this is my brother's office?" He turned his eyes to the heavy, corporate door with the title 'Olivier de Lemaire: Attorney at Law' embossed on the plaque.

"It is indeed. You shouldn't really enter here unless he invites you to or I clear it, though." Grantaire wiped his sweaty hands on his slacks while Enjolras’ attention was directed away.

"Well, Olivier was always warm and welcoming. Just like father." Enjolras turned back around and straightened his bright red blazer.

"You know," Grantaire said slowly, unsure where he was treading, "I've known Lemaire for a long time. You and your brother could not be any more different, if I may say so."

Enjolras' stupid not-smile was back, and he raised his eyebrows. "So I've been told. Olivier takes after father in most ways, but he's got mother's mindset."

"And you?"

"I? I look like nobody else I'm related to. If I didn't know better, I'd say my mother had an affair."

Grantaire almost grinned. But this was the workplace, and he could at least try and stay professional right now. "Well, if you'll follow me to the next floor, I'll show you where you'll be spending most of your time."

"Where's that?"

"The filing room. This is where you'll arrange all the documents and information and evidence that the attorneys need to bring to the courtroom on the appointed day. I'll show you how it all works when the time comes, but for now I think we'll start with some easy clerical desk work. I need you to fact check this summary for an upcoming case. All you have to do is look up the information in the records, make note of any changes that need to be made, bring it to me and I'll type up the formal report."

"Sounds simple enough. So I'll just get started with that now, then?"

"Yep. I've already emailed you the rough draft. Why don't you head back to the offices and get started on that? I have to run something to the fifth floor, just... hang tight till I get back." Enjolras nodded.

Somehow Grantaire stumbled away from that encounter without hideously embarrassing himself, and was on the way to the fifth floor with the very, very rough draft of Lemaire's last case summary. Fauchelevant had asked to write it himself, so Grantaire had left it the way it was and had to simply deliver it to Cosette and then make it through the last six hours in the workday before he could go home and escape Enjolras’ stupid, beautiful face.

"Afternoon, Cosette," Grantaire said as he walked up to her desk.

"Afternoon, Taire! What brings you up to the fifth floor?" she asked, beaming at him as if he had literally brightened her day by bringing her a stack of horrific paperwork. Cosette was such a Disney princess.

"Just needed to get Lemaire's last report to your dad so he could do it himself. I guess it was important."

"Yes, he mentioned something about that," she mused, taking the papers and heaving them onto her desk. "Well, lovely to see you, R!"

"Thanks. Look forward to more of it: the new intern got here today."

"Oh, Olivier's little brother? What's he like?"

"Uhm..." Hot. Very hot. A youthful god who radiated sex, actually. "He's very blonde."

"Blonde?" She laughed. "Well, at least we've got something in common! Just think, another intern for me to bond with! Now I'll have someone else in the office who is just as nervous and confused as I am!" She smiled again.

Grantaire didn't mention that 'nervous' didn't define Enjolras at all. Not one bit, really. He thought it might make Cosette feel better, at least. "Yeah, I guess. Well, I'd better head down there to make sure he hasn't set the building on fire or something. Lemaire mentioned he was a bit of a problem child."

Cosette laughed again. "Well, Bossuet is really the only one with any business setting fire to buildings on accident." Grantaire grinned. "See you later, R!"

"Bye Cosette," he answered as he borded the elevator for the third floor.

*

By the time the lunch break came around, Grantaire had learned four new infuriating things as he covertly spied on Enjolras from his desk:  
1.) Enjolras is a focused, concentrated worker who may or may not develop an adorable furrow between his eyebrows when he's especially concentrated  
2.) Lemaire is an evil, evil boss  
3.) He's not nearly as good at spying as he thinks he is  
4.) He might have a crush on this underage, off-limits god

The first thing he learns when he asks Enjolras to organize his brother's evidence and file it away. While he works Enjolras frowns and furrows his eyebrows and bites his lip in the most enticing, aggravating way possible.

The second Grantaire realized when Lemaire left him alone and vulnerable with this sex god and about two words of warning. Stupid Lemaire.

The third, embarrassingly enough, was more than once during the day when Enjolras would glance up from his computer across the office and catch Grantaire sneakily watching him from over his own monitor. Unfortunately, either his luck from earlier had run out or Bossuet's bad fortune was catching, because Grantaire was not saved from the bright red blush that immediately followed being caught.

Enjolras would only taunt him with that same almost-smile and look back down at his work.

The last, Grantaire was sure, was completely a figment of his imagination. Grantaire didn't fall in love. Ever. Much less with a teenager he just met. Ever.

That didn't, however, stop him from getting the FUCK out of that office as soon as possible for lunch after giving Enjolras the heads up and telling him to be back by 1:45. And with a "Will do," and one last not-smile, Grantaire was on his way to find Bahorel.

"Shit, man," I just don't know what to do," Grantaire said, leaning against the counter in the breakroom as Bahorel pulled the coffee pot off the stand.

"Sounds like a real mess. Only you, Taire, only you." Bahorel shook his head and grinned as he handed Grantaire a mug.

Grantaire sulked into it as he complained. "Don't mock a wounded man! He's the most agitating teenager ever!"

"How bad can he be? I mean, he IS Lemaire's brother."

"He's a terror, trust me."

"Well, what's he done?"

Grantaire faltered. "Well, he... makes a lot of noise while he works."

"Really." Bahorel gave him a Look. "Lemaire's floor has some of the noisiest machines and secretaries in the building; how can you hear any noise that kid is making?"

"And he works kind of slow, too! I mean, granted it is just him going back to check over his work, but he also-"

"Grantaire," Bahorel interrupted him. He arched an eyebrow. "Is the kid hot?"

Grantaire blushed. "What?? Of course not!" he sputtered.

Bahorel grinned. "Oh my god, you creep! You have total crush on that kid, don't you?"

"I don't have a crush on anyone! That would be so illegal!!" Grantaire put down his mug and crossed his arms, looking less authorative and more petulant than anything else.

Bahorel shrugged carelessly. "Since when do you care about what's illegal and what's not?"

"Um, since I got hired at a law firm?" Grantaire picked his cup up again.

Bahorel laughed. "Oh, get over yourself! You and I went to high school and university together, and I seem to recall quite a few close scrapes with the police. Geez, if Jehan hadn't been there to bail us out that one time we might still be-"

"Okay, that's enough." Grantaire scowled. "Jehan was no angel then either, if you'll recall. The only reason he wasn't getting arrested too was because he was coked up out of his mind."

"Jehan doesn't do that anymore. Give a man some credit. He teaches preschool, for God's sake."

"So what's your point?"

"My point is that while we were there, you were like, the most talented guy around. You danced. You boxed. You fenced. You wrote music, you sang, you played guitar. Most of all, you were an artist- a real artist, from pencils to paint. You were one of the most incredible people I'd ever met... you could have done anything you wanted. And yet you became a legal secretary. May I ask why?"

Grantaire snorted. "First of all, I wasn't that talented."

"You got your degree in Art, dude. You even commissioned for a few months, before you dissappeared."

"That doesn't mean I was good. Besides, this job pays well and it's not too difficult."

"You hate law. You thought Bossuet and I were idiots for pursuing a Law degree."

"Well, you're not wrong. I do hate law. But at least I'm not a starving artist."

"But you still love art. If you didn't you wouldn't keep up that gig with Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta."

"That's just for fun." Grantaire swished the coffee in his mug without drinking. "It gives me and Bossuet a break from the office, and God knows Joly hates it at that hospital, so everyone wins. Doesn't mean we're good."

"Don't say that to Musichetta," Bahorel cautioned. "Hey," he said suddenly, "when's your next performance?"

"Uh, next Friday I think, and then the next Saturday after that we have another. Why?"

"No reason." Bahorel grinned evilly into his cup as he took another drink. "You should get back to work now," he said, nodding to the clock that read 1:41. "Lunch is almost over, and your amore will be missing you."

Grantaire swatted at him with a dishcloth as Bahorel hurried from the room, laughing all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the plot will progress next chapter, but ugh, I hate beginnings, how does one simply write beginnings?? Good or bad, let me know how it is. Also, please note I have no experience working in a law firm so I am relying on the good people of the Internet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding time between Grantaire and Enjolras ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is coming from a person who has never worked in a law firm, formal disclaimer. Sorry for the wait, and enjoy!

"Grantaire!"

Grantaire jumped in his chair and banged his knee painfully on the bottom of his desk. Enjolras had been there all of four fucking days, and he still hadn't gotten used to that melodious voice and perfect blonde hair. Lemaire had lied.

And Grantaire certainly wasn't prepared to see Enjolras’ flushed cheeks and panicked blue eyes as he skidded to a stop in front of Grantaire's desk.

Rubbing his knee, Grantaire stood up. Enjolras’ infectious personality, he had noticed, often compelled others to feel the same way, so seeing Enjolras’ panicked eyes and messy hair gave him a panicked sense. Which was the reason his heart began pounding like it was on its last run. Obviously.

"Enjolras? Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something is very, very wrong and I messed up so badly and I don't know who else to go to and it's really-"

"Enjolras." Grantaire gave him a deadly serious look. "What did you do?"

"I... I need your help." Enjolras leaned closer, his eyes big and hopeful.

"Um..." Grantaire forgot to breathe for a second. "Right. Take me there, I'll see what I can do."

Five minutes later found Enjolras and Grantaire standing in the doorway of the filing room, looking at the piles upon piles of papers littering the floor around the empty filing cabinets.

"Oh... my god," Grantaire groaned. "What did you do?? I said clear out files from more than ten years ago and put them in the new cabinet, and that's IT."

"Well, I thought that if I took out the files and reordered them it would be easier to locate older records, but then I got them all out and realized that I didn't know which reports belonged to which attorney and each cabinet is for a different floor and-"

"Okay, okay, I've heard enough, listen to me now." He turned to Enjolras. "You and I are going to put this whole room back together, as fast as we can, no questions asked. Understand?"

"It'll take way too long to do this by ourselves. If we got Cosette or-"

"No! We can't let anybody know what happened, especially not Cosette. If they find out, we're dead. You start separating folders, I'll go print out the guides."

Enjolras frowned. "Why should you tell me what to do?"

Grantaire paused. "Because I'm your supervisor and you just made a giant mess."

"But surely you can start organizing better than I can, having been here this long," Enjolras insisted.

Grantaire threw his hands up in defeat. "Do you want to go do it then?"

"Yeah, maybe I do." Enjolras crossed his arms defiantly. Ah, yes, here was the rebellious teen Lemaire had warned him about. And it had only taken a mere four days to get there.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Fine then! But hurry, we have to get this done before one of the secretaries comes looking for something."

When Enjolras was gone, Grantaire got to his knees and began shifting papers, muttering oaths under his breath. Within a few minutes the teenager had returned and kneeled on the floor next to him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a lock of blonde hair sway into Enjolras’ eyes. Grantaire scowled and looked away.

"Here. The first seven files of 'A'," Enjolras said, stacking them up in his arms. " 'Aaron Bellerose', 'Abigail Swift', 'Abeyeta'..." He trailed off as he noticed another file on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Grantaire snapped, still irritated about the mess and the hair. "You can't just read the files of former clients."

"I know this person," Enjolras said, seemingly ignoring Grantaire's remarks. "I didn't know this firm took care of the case."

"Well, fantastic, now can we get back to work?"

"These files must be old. This is from years ago."

"Imagine that. Will you put the thing away and help me?"

"Which lawyer worked on this case?"

Grantaire sighed and rocked back to sit on his heels, giving up momentarily. His knees hurt anyway. "What?"

"Which of the attorneys had this case?" Enjolras looked up and waved a rather thick manila envelope.

"Let me see." Grantaire took the folder and slipped a few pages out. " Wow," he muttered, momentarily forgetting the rather pressing task at hand. "I'd forgotten all about the Thénardier lawsuits." He looked back up. "This was before I came to work here. My friend Bossuet was the attorney. I guess it went pretty well for those kids after all." He slotted the papers back in.

"Do you know the details?" Enjolras asked earnestly.

Grantaire already had a 'no' forming on his lips, but he was not prepared to meet those big blue eyes so suddenly. "Nnnnn... yeah." He turned away and tossed the file under 'L, 4'.

Enjolras looked at him expectantly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "So basically, these drug lords called the Thénardiers ran this whole mafia about ten years ago. Things were going well, and they were pretty dangerous. Eventually they got caught - and not for prostitution or money laundering or murder or anything like that. They got caught on charges of child abuse. Turned out some nosey neighbor found out they had, like, five kids hidden away that were horribly mistreated; you don't even want to hear the details." Grantaire gestured to the floor, and they continued organizing as he told the story.

"Anyway, police showed up and it blew into this whole thing. They caught the Thénardiers and their main accomplices, and took the kids away. I guess the oldest girl ran away, and the other girl and two littlest boys went into the foster care system, but the middle child got adopted right away. He went to someone named..." Grantaire glanced down at the papers as he handed Enjolras another stack. "Andres. That's right, the de Andres family took him in. Big, rich, influential. So it's a happy ending for him, at least."

"Mostly," Enjolras muttered.

"How do you mean?"

"I'm friends with the Andres' biological son." Enjolras leaned over a stack to open a file cabinet, and Grantaire bit his lip and turned away. "Courfeyrac and Gavroche are the best brothers ever; they love each other more than life itself. But their parents are pretty self-centered and distant. Courfeyrac has practically raised that boy himself." He shook his head.

Grantaire frowned. "So he essentially just went from one neglectful family to another?"

"Pretty much."

"Typical," Grantaire snorted, returning to the next cabinet.

It was Enjolras’ turn to frown now. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean it's typical of the government and adoption agency to let such negligence slide without a care."

The blonde put down his papers and crossed his arms. "You think they're intentionally allowing this? And on a daily basis?"

"Don't tell me you're a fan of the government." That might actually crush Grantaire's soul.

"Of course not. The government has problems and corruption that needs to be fixed, so no I-"

Grantaire almost laughed out loud. "And just who do you think is going to fix the government? You??"

Enjolras bristled. "As a matter of fact, yes."

Grantaire grinned. "You could've warned me, you know. I haven't met very many idealists in my time."

"Wanting to change the way things are run for the benefit of the people is not idealism."

"It is if it's impossible."

"Who says it's impossible?"

"Most rational people. They aren't just going to start a rebellion because one teenager says things are unfair."

"More people than just one teenager realize things are unfair, and more people than just me are willing to do something about it!"

"How can you be sure?" Grantaire shot back. "They may say they don't like how things are run, and that's fine and dandy, but the minute you ask people to stand up and fight for something you're going to see the hard truth: they won't risk it all."

"You cynic. Just because you've given up on a better future doesn't mean they have. The people understand that laws and police aren't in favor for the less fortunate and they will care enough to make a change, they just need a spark to inspire them!"

"I doubt all of them will have such selfless reasons as you. What will their spark be? People don't just fight a dangerous battle without expecting something. They do it for the people they love; their sons and daughters and wives and husbands. So that they can have a better future. If you really want to rally people, you need to appeal to the things they care about."

Enjolras’ glare softened to something else in the ensuing silence. As the reality of the situation caught up to him, Grantaire couldn't help but feel a little ridiculous sitting balls-deep in scattered paperwork on the rough carpet arguing about politics with a teenager.

"You should join our social justice club. You would make a great addition."

"I'm sorry?"

"At the University. I run the social justice club there, and you would play a great devil's advocate. Everyone would be glad to have you." Enjolras looked thoughtful. "You clearly have a grasp on what you're talking about."

Grantaire stared. "Are you, like, serious?"

"I never joke about the ABC." Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows. "We meet on Thursday evenings at 7:30 at the Cafe Musain. You should come."After another pregnant pause he got back to work without a word.

And so the two whiled away the afternoon on the floor of the filing room cleaning up the mess in companionable silence, and Grantaire worked hard to keep his secret smile hidden.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A POV switch and a brief glance into University life.

Enjolras never wanted to look at another manila envelope again. After kneeling on the floor for almost two hours with Grantaire, reorganizing a terrible mess, he was truly ready to head home and rest for five whole minutes before starting in on the assignment for his Political Science class. Professor Marque was probably trying to kill his students with the sheer amount of homework. As if Enjolras didn't have enough to do as it was.

"I guess it's time to head home then," Enjolras said to Grantaire a few hours after the Filing Room Incident had been cleared up.

"Yeah, let's call it a day. I promised Musiche- I mean, I promised someone I would meet them in half an hour, and the last thing I need is her on my back again." Grantaire gave Enjolras a weak smile. "Bright and early Monday morning, Enjolras. Your brother will be here for a few hours working with Madeline, so he's asked me to make sure you're on your best behavior." He winked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "I'm not a child; I don't need you or Olivier to babysit me."

"Well, he seems to think you do, so I'm just following orders." Enjolras watched as Grantaire grabbed his coat and slipped it on, picking up his messenger bag and a stack of papers as well. "See you next week."

"Goodnight." Enjolras turned to his tiny desk and grabbed his blazer and bag before heading out with a tiny wave to one of the secretaries, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a particular interest in Enjolras. He at least had to try and be civil.

The night air outside was cool and dewey, and the slight breeze picked up leaves and debris that tumbled along the pavement as Enjolras hurried to the train station.

One brief train ride later, and Enjolras was back on University campus, windswept and cold as his stiff fingers pried open the door. He walked down the hall and up a flight of stairs to his dorm room.

"Evening, Combeferre," Enjolras said, greeting his best friend and roommate as he entered the tiny living space and dropped his keys into the bowl.

"Hello." Combeferre didn't look up from the table scattered with his medical textbooks and lecture notes as he greeted his friend. "How was your day?"

"Long. Exhausting. I wish it was over, but I have a paper due next Friday for Poli-Sci, and if I don't start now Marque will have me skinned alive. How was yours?"

"Okay. It was quiet at first until-"

A loud squeal from the hallway interrupts Combeferre, and both students look up as Courfeyrac bursts through the door, his little brother thrown over his shoulder sack-of-potatoes style, the boy laughing and kicking.

"- this."

"Oh, hey Enj! Look who came to visit!" Courfeyrac swings Gavroche down so he's holding his legs but the boy is flipped upside down, still laughing, his face red.

"Hello, Gavroche," Enjolras said, nodding to them. "Good to see you both." He sighed and tossed his bag onto a chair, well on his way to his bed.

"Geez, who peed in your Cheerios?" Courfeyrac let Gavroche go and flopped down onto Combeferre's table.

"I had a long day. It started out spectaculary, and just to top it off I have Marque's essay to start."

"Shit- I mean, shoot," Courfeyrac muttered, glancing at Gavroche. "Swearing is wrong," he said. "And I forgot about that essay."

"What happened today?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras sighed. "I made a giant mess in the filing room trying to organize the cabinets. And I was ten minutes late this morning and Grantaire - my supervisor - had this weird attitude all day and I'm running on four hours of sleep-"

"Sounds like you deserve a break," Courfeyrac said, grinning and shoving a stack of textbooks aside so he could sit on the table. Combeferre blinked for a moment, sighed, and cleared half of the mess away.

"What do you mean a weird attitude?" he asked as he swept a printed powerpoint presentation onto the floor.

"I don't know, maybe that's just his regular personality, but he acts so sociable around the secretaries and the other interns and attorneys, but the minute I talk to him he's the most sarcastic cynic I've ever met."

"Oh no! Has the dewey-eyed idealist finally met his match in a cynical asshole that holds power over him?" Courfeyrac raised his pinky to his mouth in mock alarm.

Enjolras frowned at him. "I'm not an idealist."

"Well, no matter what, I think you need a break for now," Combeferre said, standing up and fixing his glasses.

"I can't take a break, I told you-"

"Too bad. We're kidnapping you anyway. C'mon, Gav." Courfeyrac held out a hand and hauled his brother off the floor.

"You can't-"

"Shush. I'm calling Feuilly."

*

"Where are even going?" Enjolras pouted in the backseat of Combeferre's blue minivan, Gavroche bouncing around in the seat beside him. "It's not like we can go to a bar. Gavroche is here."

Gavroche turned and glared at Enjolras. "That's pretty hypocritical of the teenager pouting in the backseat of a minivan."

Courfeyrac snorted. "We're not going to a bar. Technically. We're going to the Musain. I don't care if we're there every Thursday, you need to get out of your room and get some fresh air."

Enjolras sunk lower in his seat, crossing his arms.

*

"So, what can I get for you today?" The waitress smiled at Enjolras and Courfeyrac over the bar.

Courfeyrac flashed his dimples at her. "I think we'll take three coffees."

"Sure thing." She bustled off the the machine in the corner, leaving Enjolras alone with Courfeyrac.

"It's very busy in here," Enjolras grumbled. 

"It's 7:09 on a Friday evening, what did you expect?"

"If I wreck this essay it's going to be all your fault."

"Of course it is." The waitress reappeared with three mugs in hand. "Oh, thanks! That was quick."

"Well, it's almost the end of my shift and I promised a friend I'd meet them after work." She swept her long brown hair over her shoulder and smiled again. "Enjoy."

By the time Feuilly showed up with Marius in tow, Combeferre was already regaling Enjolras with a story about an appendectomy he had had to observe that week and Courfeyrac was competing with Gavroche to see who could get the most scraps of paper stuck in Enjolras' hair before he noticed. So far Gavroche was winning and Enjolras was beginning to feel sick to his stomach.

"Hey, sorry we're late, I had to finish with a client," Feuilly said, referring to the tattoo parlor he worked at. "Then I had to go hunt this guy down in the campus library."

"Sit, sit," Combeferre said, motioning the redhead and his lanky companion towards the empty chairs next to them. "How is your studying going, Marius? I heard you and Enj and Courf have a midterm coming up."

"Yeah, it's okay." Marius shrugged. "I do think Marque hates his students."

"Preach it to the choir," Enjolras mumbled.

"So, what's the occasion?" Feuilly asked, pulling his hat off and tossing it onto the table.

"Enjolras is going to kill himself under the workload," Courfeyrac called out over the din of the bar. "Also, he's got a terrible supervisor who doesn't believe in his philosophy, so we thought he could use a break."

"Gosh, Enj, you haven't been on this job a week and you're already bringing up politics?" Feuilly shook his head.

"What did he say? What did you say to him?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras sat back in his chair, thinking. "He said that I was an idealist and had unachievable ideals. And then I told him that just because he's a cynic that doesn't believe in change doesn't mean everyone is. Then he said that the people won't rise up against the government just because one teenager said so."

"And? What did you do?"

Enjolras didn't look up from the wood grain of the table. "I invited him to an ABC meeting."

The six of them sat in silence for a moment, even Gavroche frowning and understanding.

Courfeyrac broke the pause. "Do mine ears deceive me? Has Enjolras actually taken an interest in someone who doesn't believe in revolution?"

"Of course not. I just thought, well-" Combeferre gave him a pointed stare. "- he challenged me in a way nobody ever had! He made me think about my argument and what I was saying. I thought he could play devil's advocate, you know, playing the opposing side so that we could strengthen our arguments."

Nobody said anything. Enjolras felt his ears begin to burn. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to have someone argue the other side for once."

Courfeyrac was the first to laugh. "Oh god, it's Enjolras’ first crush and it's on Thomas Hobbes."

Feuilly laughed, and so did Marius. Even Combeferre smiled a little.

"It's not a crush!" Enjolras said furiously. "That's ridiculous! He's about as different from me as possible. And he's not a Hobbes- well, actually, maybe he is, I don't know, the point is-"

"Enjolras, you just got through telling us how much you hate the guy and then you come out and tell us you asked him to join your social justice group. Your baby that you've cultivated from the beginning of secondary school. It does raise a few flags."

"I don't have a crush on him," Enjolras said firmly, a serious look on his face. "He has to be at least seven years older than me, as well as my current boss. Be sensible."

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "Have a sense of humor for fuck's sake. Swearing is wrong," he added to Gavroche. The little boy mimicked Courf's eye roll and flicked another scrap at Enjolras’ hair.

Enjolras quietly settled back into his chair and let the conversation wash over him, Courfeyrac and Feuilly and Marius discussing the upcoming protest for women's rights and Courfeyrac counting the paper still stuck to Enjolras. 'A crush on Grantaire,' he thought to himself, shaking his head. 'That's preposterous.'

His coffee had long grown cold before Enjolras rejoined the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback, good or bad, is much appreciated. If this goes over well I think I might keep switching between POV.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I have no excuses. Enjoy!

"Enjolras. If you just copy paste the same email it won't take as long."

"That's so impersonal and corporate."

"It's a stupid reminder for court dates. It doesn't have to be detailed."

"It shows an appreciation towards employees if you directly address each recipient."

"For Christ's sake, then just paste the same paragraph and change the name!"

Enjolras stubbornly glared at his computer screen and continued typing.

"Good Lord, maybe I should have let you keep filing after all."

Enjolras finally snapped his head up to look at Grantaire, sat at his own desk ten feet away.

"Don't you have anything to be doing other than micromanaging me?"

Grantaire grinned. "Nope. And if I did, I've been working here long enough to know how to finish fast."

"I'll be done in less than fifteen minutes, don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not."

Enjolras turned back to his computer, grumbling under his breath.

"And don't forget that the time got moved up half an hour."

"I know."

"And it's courtroom C, not A."

"I know."

"And make sure you mention that all evidence and paperwork needs to be finalized and turned in by that Wednesday."

Enjolras looked up again, glaring. "If you know so much about this whole thing and you've got nothing better to do, why make me write it?" he snapped.

"You need the practice, the hands-on experience!"

"Then go find somewhere else to be!"

"Can't. I have to watch you." Grantaire shook his black curls.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Well you've got one anyway!" Grantaire said, laughing at the furious expression on the teen's face.

He opened his mouth to make a scathing retort when Grantaire's expression quickly sobered up and he straightened in his chair.

"-so if we aren't able to find a replacement by then we may have to cut a few team members from the case-" Lemaire was saying as he rounded the corner, accompanied by Monsieur Fauchelevant and Monsieur Javert.

"Good morning, Grantaire. Gentlemen, you remember the new intern, yes?" Lemaire said, opening his office door and nodding towards Enjolras.

"Of course. Good morning, Monsieur de Lemaire," Fauchelevant said. Javert simply nodded in acknowledgement. "Good morning, Grantaire."

"Morning sir," Grantaire said, returning Fauchelevant's genial smile. The three men in suits dissappeared into the office, and the door clicked shut behind them.

Grantaire looked back to Enjolras to see the blonde's expression turned from annoyance to concern.

"Everything alright over there?" Grantaire asked, leaning back in his chair and playing with a pen.

"I met Javert and Madeline a few days ago." Enjolras frowned. "I don't think Javert likes me."

"Javert doesn't like anyone, don't take it personally," Grantaire snorted.

"What does he even do here? I mean, he's not an attorney."

"Javert is head of security and the firm's personal private detective," Grantaire said. He clicked his pen. "Also, he's Fauchelevant's husband."

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. "Really?"

"Yep. They both raised Cosette together. I guess they met a long time ago on a case to find an escaped convict and," he grinned, "they hit it."

Enjolras didn't even chastise him for making a dirty joke about his employer. "Are you sure? I mean, I've met both of them and... they don't seem like the type."

"Are you seriously following social stereotypes enforced on the gay community? You, of all people?"

"I- I guess that was unfair of me, but they never even mentioned being married-"

"Employers don't generally discuss their private lives to employees on their first day." Grantaire leaned forward. "And again with the stereotypes. I mean, do I seem gay to you?"

"Well, no- I don't know, I guess I never thought about it!" Enjolras stuttered, visibly flustered.

"Well, you'd be dead wrong again, because I am."

Enjolras sat there for a moment. "You're gay?"

"Is that a problem, Man of the People?"

"What?! No, no, of course not!" Grantaire could see his ears turning red, and cursed himself for thinking about how adorable that was. "I just- you never said- I didn't think that you- I mean, you're so... so..." He floundered for the right word, awkwardly trailing off.

The two sat there, staring at each other in a pregnant silence until Grantaire cleared his throat. Enjolras’ eyes were too intense to stare into for long.

"I believe you have some emails to finish."

Enjolras swallowed and looked back at his screen.

*

Enjolras had just begun researching prior legislation and precedents in one of the most tedious law programs on his desktop when he saw another person round the corner of cubicles and head for Grantaire's desk.

The tall, hulking man stopped there. "Hey man, what's up?" he asked casually. Enjolras ducked behind his monitor and pretended to type.

"Eh, nothing. I literally finished that entire report last night and I've got nothing to do but sit here and watch someone type," Grantaire answered. Enjolras could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Well, you're gonna be sorry you complained in a second. Cornelia from Bossuet's floor just sent me here to tell you that she lost a file of evidence and she thinks it's somewhere in the filing room. She wants you to find it."

Grantaire groaned. "Are you kidding? How long will that take?"

"Dunno. She seemed pretty panicked though, and I can tell you that the last thing 'Suet needs is another piece of lost paperwork."

"Do I have to go now?"

"Get your ass up and go help; you're not doing anything anyway."

Grantaire stood up and snapped his fingers. "Hey, I'm supervising an intern. It's surprisingly more tasking than you'd think." He winked over at Enjolras (who had been caught unawares, staring). He scowled and turned back to his screen.

"Yeah, yeah, now go."

Once Grantaire was gone, the other man sat on the edge of the desk and eyed Enjolras across the room. "So, you're the new intern?"

Enjolras straightened up. "Yes."

The man grinned. "Of course you are. My name's Bahorel."

"Er, nice to meet you." Enjolras paused. "Do you work here?"

"Yep. 'Attorney at Law'," he said, fingers forming air quotes. "It sucks, by the way. Don't become a lawyer."

"Right."

"So, small citizen, what are you up to next weekend?"

Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows, both at the nickname and the question. "Why?"

Bahorel didn't look fazed. "Oh, I know this great bar downtown that has these crazy gatherings on the weekends. I hear they're having one next Saturday, actually. You never know who you'll meet there."

"And your point is?"

Bahorel leaned towards Enjolras. "I'm saying you should come next Saturday at 9:30 P.M. to the Corinthe downtown because a certain someone you work with has a music gig there that I think you would find VERY interesting."

Enjolras blinked. "Oh. I see."

"So? Are you in?"

"Uh... could I bring anyone?"

"Hey, bring whoever you want. But just remember: you didn't hear any of this from me. Capiche?"

Enjolras nodded slowly. "Of course."

Bahorel gave a lopsided grin and stood up again. "Excellent. So I'll see you then, I guess."

"Okay."

Bahorel shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and winked. "Nice to meet you, small citizen."

And before Enjolras could protest the (admittedly horrific) nickname, Bahorel was gone.

*

"Maybe next time you should just put all the paperwork together," Grantaire said to Cornelia as he handed her the rumpled lost papers.

"Oh, R, thank you so much," she gushed, her round cheeks flushing. "L'Aigle would have just died if he thought I'd lost something again, geez, third time this month, you'd think a girl could catch a break!" The short, sturdy brunette huffed and turned the papers over in her hands. "Well, I owe you one big time, seriously, I-"

"Hey, R!" Bossuet stuck his shiny bald head around the corner, his trademark wonky grin lighting up his face. "Thought I heard your voice! Can you come here for a sec?"

"Yep." Grantaire shot him a grin and said his farewells to a still flustered Cornelia before following Bossuet to his office.

It was a decidedly small office, compared to all the other attorneys, with one window that refused to open, a rusty door hinge and a cabinet that only unlocked when it wanted to, stuffed to the gills with yellowing papers. Bossuet loved the place.

"Here." As soon as they were inside Bossuet grabbed a messily stapled stack of papers and a crumpled note. "For the thing next Saturday," he muttered, tossing folders everywhere as he searched his desk, "and a note from Joly, something about wanting to sanitize the soundboard before he used it- shit, where did I put that stupid thing?" He sat in his wobbly chair and tried to wrench open a stiff drawer. "Hold on, don't go."

Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately. "Great space, huh?"

"Don't mock my poor little office, it goes through enough everyday- aha!" He popped the drawer open and fished out another piece of paper. "And the time slots for next month's performances." He handed it to Grantaire. "Don't loose it, I forgot to make copies."

"Of course you did," Grantaire teased. "Don't worry, I'll do it. Then you can give one to Chetta or Joly."

"Thanks. Practice on Saturday at our place, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, 'Suet."

"No problem!"

Grantaire rode the elevator back to Lemaire's floor, flipping through the stapled packet. Sheet music for a new song, it looked like. At least he had a week and a half to learn it in his (slim-to-none) free time.

When he stepped off the elevator and navigated his way back to his desk, he saw Enjolras leaning carelessly on his elbow, cupping his chin with his palm, glaring at the computer as if it had just suggested Napoleon was a great leader.

"What?" Grantaire asked, smiling at the look on the boy's face. When he frowned like that, he got a deep dimple on his left cheek that should have been illegal.

"This building has the slowest moving WiFi I've ever used. And I live in a dorm room," he grumbled.

"Welcome to the glamorous world of law." Grantaire gestured widely with his arms, smirking at his younger counterpart. "A place filled with crappy furniture, too much paperwork, deadlines and slow WiFi. Enjoy your stay."

In spite of himself, Enjolras' lips quirked up on either corner - the first real smile Grantaire had ever seen on him. The grin fell from his face as he was greeted by pearly white teeth and two (not one, but two) perfect dimples.

He swallowed, hoping Enjolras hadn't seen his little stroke as he sat back at his desk and picked up a pen, writing useless notes on a post-it to make himself look busy. "So you do have teeth. I was beginning to wonder after a while," he said, attempting a joke. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile."

The unconscious grin fell from Enjolras' face almost instantly, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment, hiding behind his computer monitor again, making his face as grave and serious as possible.

Grantaire just smiled again and kept an eye on his new song, strumming an imaginary guitar for practice as he tapped along to the music in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, other characters are becoming relevant, imagine that. Thank you for reading, as always any feedback is welcome, and the next part should be up soon!


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras hummed lightly, some song he didn't know, as he typed, imagining his fingers flowing over black and white keys. It had been years since Enjolras’ last piano recital, and still one haunting melody flowed through his head and out his fingers. He didn't know the song, at least he didn't think he did. It was something far too ambiguous for his parents to ever have let him play.

Grantaire's voice calling for him broke through the music, and Enjolras stopped typing. He stood and straightened his tie as he hurried to the conference room at the other end of the floor. He hesitantly pushed the door open. It was the conference room where interviews with clients took place, and the only time Enjolras had been permitted to see it was on Grantaire's grand tour of the firm.

He peeked around the corner. "Yes? Grantaire?"

Grantaire, sitting at the long oval table, did not look up. "Come in."

Enjolras took a seat across the table and Grantaire slid a laptop over the shiny wood, not looking up from the papers he was marking. "Here. There's a file on there marked 'Charbonneau'. I need you to open that and help me transfer that information to this hard copy."

Grantaire was focused and serious for the first time in his and Enjolras’ (albeit short) time of acquaintance. The sight made Enjolras unreasonably irritated. It was easier to dislike Grantaire when he didn't show any care for the work he did.

Enjolras kept quiet. "Why do you need it on a hard copy?"

"It's all new information. The final court date isn't for, like, a month and a half, but if it's evidence it's going to be relevant. If it's going to court it can't be saved to a hard drive."

"Okay. What should I do?" Enjolras opened the file and scrolled down a few pages of the miniscule type.

"Read me off the case summary."

"Alright." He bit his lip. "Five weeks ago, a M. Charbonneau came to M. de Lemaire for legal counsel in a divorce and custody claims. He and Mme. Charbonneau, née Bouchard, have a sixth month old daughter referred to only as N."

Grantaire began taking notes in a large, scrawling handwriting. "Go on."

"Mlle. Bouchard is suing M. Charbonneau under claims of sexual assault and domestic abuse. While no such records exist, it is believed that she is making these claims in hopes of gaining custody of N., despite having been deemed by medical professionals to be mentally unfit to care for a child." Enjolras frowned. "How can that be? Regardless of anything he's accused of, there's no way they would let her get the baby."

Grantaire looked up, a familiar grin tugging as the side of his mouth. "Well, if she's too unstable to raise a baby, maybe she's too unstable to understand that. What next?"

"Thus far, Mlle. Bouchard's claims have been met with a swift response from the court: if M. Charbonneau cannot prove his innocence by N.'s eighth month, the baby will be put up for adoption." Enjolras frowned deeper, glaring at the screen as though it had done him personal wrong. "While M. Charbonneau has maintained his innocence, he and his lawyer have thus far been unable to present evidence suggesting this."

Grantaire scratched loudly at the paper in the silence, furrowing his brows.

"That's all." Enjolras clicked the silver laptop closed.

"Excellent." Grantaire capped his pen.

"No, it's not excellent." Enjolras crossed his arms (for some odd reason, his typical debating stance). "It can't end that way. If she's mentally unstable, her claims have no weight."

"How eloquent of you. Just because she has problems with her mind doesn't mean she isn't capable of thinking, of speaking her mind. The assumption that she isn't is offensive." Grantaire still had not looked up, pen flying across the page in tandem with a highlighter.

"Maybe I worded myself wrong. I think that if she has been proven to be mentally unstable, and is making accusations that have no proof so that a situation will turn in her favor, she should not be believed."

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, at long last. "Just because her attorney hasn't found any evidence yet doesn't mean it's not true."

"I take it you're on her side?"

"Of course not," Grantaire scoffed. "That's preposterous. She's going to attempt to raise a baby she is incapable of caring for. She is literally putting an innocent child into a home that cannot run. It's selfish."

"That's what I'm trying to say. If I were Lemaire," Enjolras blew a blonde curl out of his eyes, "I would tell M. Charbonneau to just give the baby over to the system. She would go to a family that actually wants her."

Grantaire laughed. "Oh yeah, like your little friend - what was his name? Gavroche?"

Irritated, Enjolras turned red. "The satisfaction rates from adopted children are upwards from fifty percent. That's more that half of a success rate out of all relocated kids. Gavroche was a rare exception."

"Not too rare is it, if the other forty-odd percent are unhappy and suicidal, huh?" Grantaire was grinning at Enjolras, and that only served to make him angrier. He would not be mocked while voicing his opinion.

"That's why I run a social justice club that's growing every day. That's why I fight so hard for less-advantaged people. Not everyone was born into a cushioned lifestyle like I had the displeasure of." Grantaire rolled his eyes. "There's a real chance that some of these people can make something of themselves, become better. They can't do it on their own. It isn't fair."

"Life's not fair. Sorry to break it to you and your, uh, burdensome upbringing." Grantaire laughs again.

"Can you really be that cynical??" Enjolras threw his hands up. "Never have I given up on persuading someone, but you are honestly infuriating! I find it impossible to belive that you can literally have this little hope or belief in anything!"

Grantaire flashed his teeth in an imitation of a smile. "When I find something to believe in, I'll be sure to let you know."

That time, when the two fell into silence, the difference was tangible. No longer uncomfortable or heated, it was almost... companionable. Enjolras had never felt like that with anyone but Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He shifted a little in his chair.

"You argue well," was all Grantaire said, standing and collecting his papers and laptop. "Don't stop trying to persuade me."

He walked to the door. "I have to work on another floor for the next few hours. I believe you have some work to do." He winked at his taller, blonde counterpart before leaving the room.

Enjolras leaned back in his chair. It was quiet in the room now, without Grantaire sitting across from him.

'You argue well, too,' Enjolras thought to himself. He frowned and shook his head a little. Sure, Grantaire was a good sparring partner. But so was Combeferre. And Courfeyrac. However, neither of them had quite ever given him such a feeling of... a challenge.

Enjolras could have slapped himself. What a stupid thing to think.

Walking back to his desk, he passed his older brother's dark, vacant office and paused. He examined the plaque on the outside for a few moments, his brother's latest problem, the Charbonneau case, on his mind.

Without much thought to what Lemaire might do or how Grantaire could punish him for disobeying orders, he opened the heavy wooden door and went inside. He was going to learn more about this case. It just wasn't fair.

The door snicked shut behind him.

*

At the end of the day, Grantaire stood at his desk stuffing his messenger bag full of paperwork to take home and finish that night. Enjolras cleared up his own workspace across from him in silence.

Enjolras straightened up and looked Grantaire dead in the eye. "Goodnight, Grantaire. See you on Monday."

"That's right, you don't come in tomorrow." Grantaire nodded, feeling clumsy and stupid. 'Way to state the obvious, shitbag,' he thought. "Uh, have a good weekend."

For the first time since the week before, Enjolras bestowed a dimpled, blinding smile on him. Grantaire's knees felt weak. "You too."

Grantaire watched as the blonde left, focused on the way the red blazer hugged his slim frame. He sighed and looked away, finishing packing up. This was easier when Enjolras was just pretty; it wasn't not fair that he got to be intelligent, too.

On his way out, he caught sight of Lemaire's office door cracked open. He furrowed his brow and pulled it closed.

Back at his tiny, crappy apartment, Grantaire tapped his pen against the papers, curled up on the sagging couch. On the scuffed coffee table he had an open bottle of cheap wine (no glass; why bother dirtying a cup he'd just have to wash?) and the dim lighting added that certain je nais se quoi that the room definitely did not need.

He ran a hand through his black curls, trying to focus, but the words swam before his eyes.

"Fuck it," he muttered, throwing pen and papers onto the other cushion and walking to the little alcove just off his bedroom at the back of the apartment.

In the alcove (which was hardly more than a little den) he had squeezed an easel, countless art supplies, and a stool before a surprisingly large bay window overlooking the City of Lights.

He sat and picked up a brush, absently twirling it in his hand as he tacked up a piece of paper.

A few hours later he finished his painting: a landscape of a dark, warty toad in a bog looking up to the pristine crimson sky to see a golden bird in flight.

He scrawled his name in the corner and turned off the lights, throwing the cramped apartment into shadows.

And somewhere far off in a dorm room in Paris, Enjolras peeled his blazer and tie off and got into bed alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I expect another chapter to be up soon (today or tomorrow, no promises) so keep your eyes peeled. I hope you all still like this, so let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Enjolras woke up early the next morning, blinking slowly, his eyes soft and unfocused as he peeked his head out from under the duvet, his blonde bedhead becoming a halo in the early morning glow. Combeferre, thrusting his arms into his dark grey coat across the room, smiled at his friend.

"Morning."

Enjolras gave a sleepy grunt.

"I hate to disturb you, but your morning lecture starts in forty minutes."

Enjolras sat bolt upright in bed, his hair sticking straight up. "Really??"

"Uh, yes?" Combeferre chuckled. "I already made coffee, don't worry. But you probably want to get up now. Courf will be here soon, I have to go."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac, both eighteen already, had previous engagements: Combeferre, his job as professor Mabeuf's assistant, and Courfeyrac, responsible for taking Gavroche to school in the mornings and accompanying Enjolras to their Friday lecture at the ass-crack of dawn.

"Bye." Combeferre grabbed his bag and waved to his roommate.

"Bye, have a good day." Enjolras yawned and swung his legs out of bed, the tile cold against his bare feet.

He opened his drawer and pulled out his favorite black skinny jeans and white v-neck, pulling them on with the sluggishness only a 17 year old awake at 7 A.M. for school could possibly accomplish.

Without a knock or otherwise, Courfeyrac burst into the room, his pink jeans and yellow suspenders too bright for the morning.

"Morning sunshine!" He crowed, playfully shoving Enjolras and dropping his bag carelessly onto the floor. "Let's shake a leg, beautiful! Marque won't wait for us!"

"Yeah, yeah," Enjolras grumbled, pulling his hand through his curls to tame them and forcing his feet into his red high tops. "Let's go." He grabbed his red coat and bag, and the two left the room.

"I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt!" Courfeyrac said, shrugging.

"I told you, there's no way I'm going to a rave with you or any of your weird friends."

"Excuse you, my weird friends are fabulous."

"Forget about it."

Courfeyrac groaned. Enjolras, finally awake in the brisk morning air with a cup of black coffee in hand, silently cursed whoever thought of a Political Science class at 7:45 A.M.

"Okay, scratch the rave, what about a..."

Courfeyrac faded into the background as Enjolras allowed his mind to wander. That stupid case his brother was taking care of weighed on his mind, heavy and dark, until they reached the lecture hall. The looming stone building cast a shadow over the lawn before it as the two friends ascended the stairs.

Flopping into seats in the very front row, as Enjolras always insisted, Courfeyrac continued chattering until the professor walked in, in a sharp grey business suit and neat mustache.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, this evening at 6:45 P.M sharp, I expect an essay from each and every one of you to find its way to my front door. Failure to do so will result in a zero for the assignment. Now, continuing on with today's topic, we will be discussing..."

Enjolras clicked his pen open and prepared to take notes. Beside him, Courfeyrac nudged his ribs and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

An hour and a half later the class was over. Courfeyrac stretched his arms out obnoxiously as they crossed the quad, sun shining brilliantly overhead.

"So about that rave-"

"Don't start."

*

That afternoon found Enjolras and Combeferre holed up in their room, the former finalizing his essay due that evening, and the latter constructing a human skeleton (complete with organs and intestines) from memory on paper.

"Tibia..." Combeferre muttered, tapping his leg. "Fibula... Enj, do the tarsals or metatarsals come first?"

"Uh-"

"Tarsals," Combeferre said, answering his own question.

"Ferre, have you seen where I put my glasses?"

"On your head."

"Thanks." Enjolras untangled the frames from his hair and shoved them on his nose, blinking from behind unnecessarily thick glass.

Once more disturbing the peace and quiet in the room, Courfeyrac came in and dramatically heaved himself onto Combeferre's bed.

"Don't you ever knock?"

"You know that's not my style, darling." Courfeyrac winked at Enjolras. "What are you doing?"

"Finishing Marque's essay. Have you even begun yours?"

"I resent the insinuation! Of course I have. Sure, it's not finished, but I've got four hours before I have to worry."

A meek knock on the door later and Marius entered the room, Feuilly trailing behind him. Marius made a beeline for Courfeyrac.

"Courf, oh god, I need your help, my essay isn't finished and I don't know how to make it flow and Marque already hates me-"

"Hush, little rabbit. Let me give you perspective."

Courfeyrac launched into a tirade, something about crises in the Middle East or the reign of Napoleon compared to Marque's silly essay, which only seemed to make Marius paler and more strung out than before.

"Ferre." Feuilly heaved the stack of pamphlets in his arms onto the desk without disrupting Combeferre's work. "I've gotten all of these done, but the posters are still a work in progress. Do you think you could help me with the layout?"

"Sure, what were you thinking?" Combeferre shut his notebook and drew another chair over as Courfeyrac continued to babble nonsense to Marius.

A lull fell over the room. Marius began to type on his laptop, Courfeyrac lazily watching over his shoulder. Combeferre and Feuilly sketched on the poster in silence.

Enjolras was about to get back to work when he heard Courfeyrac mention something about live music being better than soundtracks to a pale Marius. 'Music,' Enjolras thought. 'It's all the same whether you're in a symphony hall or a crappy bar-'

He suddenly sat straight up. Music. In a crappy bar. And a promise he'd made last week to a genial but terrifying man to come listen to said music in said crappy bar.

Dammit.

"Uh, guys?"

Combeferre looked up, the rest of them half paying attention.

"Mmm?" Feuilly hummed.

Enjolras sighed. "Do you guys want to go to this bar tomorrow? There's this music thing going on."

Four pairs of eyes lifted to meet his.

"You want to go to a bar," Feuilly said. It didn't even have the dignity of being a question.

"Yes?"

"Why?" Combeferre smiled.

"Like I said, there's going to be this music thing going on... and a guy at work made me promise to go."

Courfeyrac laughed. "Dear God, who is this guy? A few months ago you would never have willingly gone to a bar or invited a stranger to the ABC. Is he really that hot?"

"He's not hot," Enjolras hissed, flushing and crossing his arms. "I don't have a crush on him either. I just promised another guy there that I would go."

Silence. Then:

"Okay, I'm in," from Feuilly.

"Me too," Combeferre chimed in.

"Absolutely!" Courfeyrac teased, grinning widely.

Marius just nodded, wide eyes on his laptop.

Enjolras let out a long sigh and slumped back into his chair, eyeing his screen as he deleted the topic sentence.

*

"Oh, hey R!" someone called from the hallway.

Grantaire looked up and saw Joly walking towards him, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Hey there!" Grantaire tucked his laptop under his other arm and offered a hand for Joly to lean on. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm on a break. 'Suet forgot his lunch again, so I told Chetta I'd bring it."

"Here, let me help you out." Grantaire looped his free arm under Joly’s and slowly walked with him to the elevator. "You seem a little stiffer than normal today."

Joly smiled. "Well, you know how it is. They gave me the accident and emergency ward, so it's a lot of walking. Anyway, it's good for me to get around."

"Maybe you should sit down for a second."

"Ah, I'll be fine." They boarded the elevator, and Joly leaned on Grantaire as he twirled his cane. "I'm sure it'll be better by tomorrow, at least."

"You excited?" Gramtaire asked, smiling.

"Oh, yes! It's supposed to be our biggest show yet."

"It's at the Corinthe. You sure you'll be okay? It gets pretty crowded and wild there."

"I think so. If anything, I'll make Bahorel protect me." Joly winked. "Musichetta was telling me that the bar got-"

A sharp, loud ringing filled the space, and Joly fumbled with the pocket of his scrubs before extracting the source: his cell phone.

"Hello?" he answered breathlessly. The elevator doors opened, and Grantaire helped him hobble out onto the ground floor.

"Yes, yes of course... Well, how does his blood pressure look?... I see... Well, why don't you hook him up to the CPAP- yes, full face mask, and take him to bay 20?... I should be back at the hospital in about fifteen minutes, and I can look at him then... Okay. Just get that taken care of... Thanks. Goodbye."

Joly sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "I have to go. A patient just came in that isn't breathing, I have to check back in."

"Okay. Do you need help getting there? I could take my break now-"

"No, no, that's fine." They walked together to the big front doors. "I'll make it." He smiled. "See you tomorrow, R."

"You too." Grantaire nodded. "Be careful, take it easy."

"I will. Bye!"

"Bye!"

Grantaire waved to his friend, and then took the elevator back to his floor. He dropped the laptop off at Enjolras’ vacant desk before settling into his own.

At the end of the day, the firm was dark and almost all the lights off. Everyone else had already gone home.

Grantaire, sitting in the corner, grumbled quietly to himself as he tried to reboot a fussy old computer for Cosette. Normally, on a Friday night, he would never consider staying at work past closing, bit Cosette seemed to work magical powers with her big blue eyes, and here he was jamming buttons on the monitor and being met with a stubborn blue error screen.

When he finally stumbled back to his apartment late at night, the lights from the city glowing through the windows, he felt both bone tired and too energized to sleep.

Opting to lay down and stay awake rather than get smashed the night before a performance, Grantaire crawled under the thin sheets and pulled out his phone, the soft glow lighting up the black room.

A new email notification glared up at him. He tapped it open, noticing it was from his boss.

"To: Grantaire, Hugo  
From: de Lemaire, Olivier  
Subject: The new intern  
Message:  
Grantaire -  
Promptly on Monday morning at 8:25 send Enjolras to my office. I have something to discuss with him.  
\- Lemaire"

Grantaire rolled his eyes. What kind of trouble could that kid have gotten himself into already?

He put his phone on the bedside table and rolled onto his side so that he could see the lights outside the window.

He fell asleep sooner than he thought he might.

It was the first night he dreamed of the boy with gold hair and blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bar and alcohol and music do not mix well, apparently.

Standing in the middle of a crowded, hazy, smoky bar, Enjolras was seriously reconsidering his previous promise to Bahorel. Who thought going to a sleezy, popular bar late on a Saturday night was a good idea?

Beside him, Courfeyrac shoved his shoulder. "You okay?" he practically shouted over the music blasting through the speakers and the enormous crowd laughing and talking.

"Just fine," Enjolras grumbled, crossing his arms. On his other side, Combeferre, Feuilly and Marius chatted (well, shouted) conversationally, not at all bothered by the noise.

"Yeah, you look peachy," Courfeyrac snorted. "Let's go sit."

The five shoved through the crowd of rowdy, half-drunk patrons to the rickety tables near the edge of the stage at the back of the bar.

"It's fucking crowded in here," Feuilly helpfully commented as they sat down.

"Oh, there!" Enjolras breathed in relief as he saw the familiar shape of his hulking co-worker push through the crowd. Enjolras waved.

Bahorel came up go them, grinning at Enjolras. "I can't believe you actually came!" he crowed happily, clapping Enjolras' shoulder with a bit more force than necessary. "Meet the rest of the gang."

Enjolras noticed for the first time the odd people chattering behind Bahorel: Cosette, whom he knew from work, with her usual blonde hair and blinding smile; a slender, thin-hipped man with long strawberry-blonde hair, green eyes, and a hideous sweater; and a man with rumpled hair (like he'd run his hands through it) leaning heavily on a cane.

"So, small citizen, this is Cosette, Jehan, and Joly," Bahorel said, eyes dancing merrily at the nickname. Enjolras scowled.

"Hey, uh, _small citizen_ , why don't you introduce us?" Courfeyrac joked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "This is Bahorel, one of the attorneys." Bahorel shook his head solemnly at the reminder. "Bahorel, these are my friends, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly and Marius," he continued, pointing each out.

Cosette and the blonde man took their seats with Bahorel at the round wooden table, handshakes and introductions making their way around the group.

"Joly, sit with us!" the blonde (Jehan, Enjolras reminded himself) said, eagerly patting the chair next to him.

"Ah, I'd love to, but I should go find the others. They're gonna start soon anyway," Joly said. "Lovely to meet you all, though! Use plenty of hand sanitizer, and if you order the oysters I'll be sure to say something nice at your funeral."

And with that he hobbled away on the cane.

"What?" Combeferre asked, looking only slightly more than perturbed.

"Oh, don't mind him, that's just the hypochondria," Jehan said nonchalantly. "But that oyster warning is sound. Now, shall we head to the bar?"

A few more adventurous bar trips later (made only more exciting by trying to avoid the wild gesticulations of drunk twenty-somethings screaming at each other over the noise) and the ragtag group of eight was all resettled again.

Unlike most new acquaintances, there was no awkward silences or small talk to be made. The spell had, at least, been broken since Courfeyrac shot a cheesy pickup line at Jehan. The charmed older man had since been glued to the student's side, the two exchanging sickening one-liners and winks, casual hair-playing optional.

On the more innocent side of the table, Marius was hanging on Cosette's every word with pink cheeks and his jaw slack, like a lovesick puppy. She leaned over the table slightly, a smile on her face as she talked to him. Next to them Bahorel and Feuilly were grinning and arguing back and forth over what sounded suspiciously like the pros and cons of tax evasion.

Enjolras, arms crossed, turned to Combeferre beside him, intending to make conversation, but as he opened his mouth the whole bar erupted into even louder cheering.

Enjolras swiveled to look at the stage. The already low, smoky lighting lowered even more as the tinny music from the speakers stopped and a woman now on stage loudly strummed her guitar. The crowd of people screamed again. Behind the woman a bald, smiling man joined in her music with a set of drums.

The music was rough, gritty, real, with a potential of being sweet. The girl flipped her long hair out of her pretty face, turning to wink at the last person entering the stage.

Courfeyrac, pulling briefly back from Jehan's lips at his ear, leaned towards Enjolras and shouted, "Isn't that the waitress from the other night?"

Enjolras swallowed, not answering, as he saw who the other musician was.

Grantaire, up on stage, guitar in hand, was stunning. His white sleeves were pushed up, revealing colorful tattoo sleeves normally hidden by his blazer or button-up. The denim-jeans-white-sweater was definitely a better look. His riot of inky black curls, almost purple in the smoky lighting, contrasted sharply against his skin.

And then his guitar began to play and his mouth opened and started singing.

Okay.

So, sure, Enjolras knew who he was. He was a student with stellar grades and a passion for politics and a less than admirable police record. He was not someone who got silly crushes on older guys with tattoos and a guitar.

He slumped lower into his chair, a disgusted look on his face. Fucking Grantaire.

The artist's voice was deep, sweeter than the music with just a hint of danger to it. It didn't matter to Enjolras that his proximity to the stage was probably going to burst his eardrums, so long as his hearing was permanently ruined by that voice.

The crowd was still going wild, singing along and cheering. Grantaire and the other two obviously had a reputation in Paris, and a considerable fanbase.

Enjolras concentrated closely on Grantaire. The tired, sarcastic man working in law by day was nowhere to be found on the Corithe's stage. That night, he was replaced by a man whose blue eyes sparked with fire and passion, his hands experienced and sure on the guitar, mouth right up close to the microphone.

It wasn't until somewhere around the fifth song that Enjolras wondered why he had to learn about this from Bahorel. Grantaire was so talented and charismatic on stage, lighting up the surrounding ten miles with his sudden fire. It should not be a secret from anyone. Grantaire was not attractive; at least not in a conventional way, but doing this, something he cared about, something he was willing to work for: he could have been the most beautiful man in the room.

Combeferre pressed his mouth to Enjolras’ ear and said loudly, "Listen to the words."

The blonde did, concentrating on the lyrics and the way Grantaire's mouth formed around them.

The song turned out to be about a boy who was perfect in every way, passionate and witty and fiery, and the boy's lover trying to explain how even at his worst, the perfect boy was flawless.

Enjolras flushed a deep crimson and slid lower in his seat, arms crossed tightly, brows knit.

Combeferre just laughed and turned back to his drink.

At the end of the music, the lights lifted slightly again, and all the bar patrons cheered loudly as the three upstage took quick bows. Before they exited, the girl leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Grantaire's cheek. He laughed brightly and escorted her off the stage.

Enjolras flexed his fingers a little, stiff from clenching them all through the music, and sat back up, a deep frown still etched on his face.

"What's the matter?" Combeferre asked innocently. Enjolras scowled even deeper. It wasn't like Ferre to tease. He must be spending too much time with Courfeyrac.

"Nothing," Enjolras grumbled, tugging the hem of his shirt lower down his torso.

"Well, no point in being grumpy then, huh?" Combeferre said sweetly, winking at Enjolras. The blonde only made a disparaging noise in his throat and looked away.

"Enjolras, was that Grantaire?" Feuilly asked.

"Uh," Enjolras said, hoping for a distraction. "Where's Bahorel?"

"I think he went to the bar."

Enjolras craned his neck, hoping that now that whole endeavor was done with and he could go home where there was no annoyingly competent musicians. "Wait here," he shouted to the table.

Shoving his way to the front of the building, towards the bar (avoiding many grabby, drunk patrons along the way) Enjolras finally caught sight of Bahorel and the stranger holding him up.

The man was small, thin and pretty, and that was basically it. He had a smile on his face like a slippery eel, his cherry red lips stretched over sharp white teeth. Something about him, the way he was practically draped over an irate Bahorel, the gleam in his eye, the way he held himself with such a comfortable air made Enjolras falter, fall back a little.

"I said fuck off," Bahorel snarled, shoving the stranger off him.

The pretty stranger just smirked and said something inaudible, dancing a pale, dainty hand up the bigger man's chest.

"Seriously, back the fuck up. I told you never again!" Bahorel hissed, shaking the man off him.

The stranger with black hair only grinned wider. "Pretty big words there," he said, loud enough to hear that time, "considering that definitely wasn't the case last time."

Bahorel turned a shade of red that sent genuine fear through Enjolras. Some in the close-packed crowd noticed and backed away.

"What the hell is your problem? If you're here to irritate me, then congratulations, now leave me the fuck alone. I don't need this tonight."

More crowd shuffling. A circle was beginning to form around them before Enjolras began to wonder how he found himself on the cusp of being knocked into a bar fight. What was he doing there in the first place?

Ah, yes, Bahorel.

Bahorel, who looked like he was literally about to snap that twig of a snark in half as the man hissed, "Make me."

And the stranger launched himself forward and smashed his lips against Bahorel's in a kiss that was definitely more teeth than tongue.

There were a few cheers from the onlooking crowd, that had been expecting a fight (even a wolf whistle that Enjolras knew to be Courfeyrac). For one stunned moment, Bahorel didn't move.

When he came back to life he was bright red and flustered, and most definitely not pleased. He roughly shoved the other man with more force than necessary, but his lithe frame barely budged.

The man with black hair laughed.

And then the fight began.

For all his bulk and height, Bahorel and the stranger seemed to be equal in combat.

The first blood came from the stranger's split lip. It came with cheers from the crowd and frantic shouting from the bartender. The man smiled slyly and wiped the red smear from his mouth before delivering a swift punch to Bahorel's face, that (if Bahorel were not superhumanly solid) would have broken his nose. A snarl, and then he was tackling the man to the ground.

From the cheering, whistling crowd, someone roughly knocked Enjolras off balance as they surged through and grabbed Bahorel (wrestling with the other guy) by the hair and-

Oh.

Grantaire's eyes were still flashing with that fire, now more of a mixture of amusement and exasperation. With hitherto unsuspected strength he heaved a struggling Bahorel off the ground, gripping him by the shirt.

Bahorel swore colorfully and shouted something at Grantaire, inaudible beneath the crowd's complaints at the premature end to the fight. The stranger stood gracefully, wiping his profusely bleeding mouth on the back of his hand with a lazy, careless swipe.

"God hates a coward," the man said evenly, wiping his hand off on what looked like a very expensive sweater. With one last wink, he turned on the heel of his spiked boot and left the bar.

Dumbstruck, Bahorel stood there for a moment as Grantaire berated him for getting into (another?) barfight, and congratulated him for tackling the guy.

"I mean really, 'Rel, that was fucking badass, but when I got clean we said no beating the shit out of random people that irritate us-"

"Hold this," Bahorel muttered, shoving his hoodie into Grantaire’s surprised hands and rushing out the door after the other man.

Grantaire watched him leave, an odd look on his face, and then turned back around, jacket slung over his shoulder.

Enjolras, who had, admittedly, been standing there like an idiot for the past few minutes, suddenly realized it.

And there was absolutely no time to dive out of the way.

Blue eyes locked, and Enjolras flushed a little. Grantaire's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and his mouth fell open slightly.

The awkward eye contact lasted a minute, an hour, a lifetime.

Stumbling away from Grantaire’s now red face, he slipped through the crowd and out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this! I had a crazy weekend and never managed to finish it until today. This week will hopefully be less insane.
> 
> If you're curious, the song I envisioned for Grantaire was Ain't Nothing 'Bout You by Brooks & Dunn. That song is e/R magic, y'all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which maybe Bahorel isn't so much of an asshole after all, and Enjolras is feeling very un-Enjolras feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it I only get great ideas for another fic halfway through one I'm already committed to? Don't worry, I'm determined to stick to this one till the bitter end *foreshadowing*. Enjoy!

Enjolras should have expected his luck would run out when Grantaire burst into the office that Monday morning, twenty minutes late, his emerald green tie haphazardly thrown around his neck, rebellious black curls sticking in every direction. The teen barely glanced at the other man before holing up behind his computer.

Grantaire cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, morning?"

It sounded like a question. It probably wasn't a question. Enjolras tapped his left foot lightly and muttered back a halfhearted, "Morning," in response.

Grantaire said nothing else, just collapsed into his chair, pretending to shuffle through some papers, sending furtive glances across the room. Enjolras bristled.

"You know, I was unsupervised for twenty minutes before you got here," Enjolras said without thinking. _What the fuck???_ he hissed to himself. Where exactly did he think he was going with this, again?

Grantaire cleared his throat. "I know."

"I just meant," Enjolras said quickly, wishing his computer was actually effective at blocking his blushing face, "that I'm pretty sure a supervisor isn't supposed to leave an intern alone. At the office, that is," he clarified. "And you did. And you've probably got a good excuse and all, but you could still get in trouble for leaving a minor alone with access to classified records. Not that I would look, but I just think you should know." _Okay, you can really shut up now._

He finished rambling, his words dying painfully off into the silence as he physically forced his words to stop. Enjolras did not ramble. Ever. He was a goddamn orator, known for giving speeches powerful enough to move crowds and sway the most cold-hearted of men. Enjolras did not ramble.

Grantaire gave him a bemused look of sorts, and said simply, "You're not a child, Enjolras. You don't need a babysitter."

And so the thick, awkward silence was back.

Half an hour later Grantaire straightened up, as if preparing himself for a great ordeal, and cleared his throat. "It's, uh, 8:25, Enjolras. Your brother wanted to speak with you. In his office."

"O-kay." Enjolras stood and straightened his tie,  unconsciously flicking a curl out of his eyes. Grantaire sighed.

"Good luck," he muttered as Enjolras breezed by, his fingers rattling against the keyboard.

Enjolras pushed open the big, heavy door to the private office. Behind the ostentatious desk, piled high with paperwork and files and other office supplies, was Lemaire, an intense look on his face as he typed at his computer.

Enjolras shut the door and said curtly, "You wished to speak with me?"

Lemaire gave a noncommittal grunt and gestured at a chair on the other side of the desk. "Sit."

Enjolras sat. A pregnant silence filled the room, accompanied by the deafening sound of Lemaire's keyboard. He didn't say anything. Enjolras proudly lifted his chin and crossed his arms.

At last, Lemaire turned to Enjolras. His brown eyes were flat, irritated, and Enjolras did not recoil. He was not afraid of his brother. Not for the first time in his life, he struggled to find any similarities between himself and the grumpy man across from him.

Lemaire frowned, as if he knew what Enjolras was thinking and it annoyed him. "I've called you here to discuss a rather grave subject, Monsieur de Lemaire."

Enjolras scoffed. "What?"

"It would seem that, upon entering my office last Friday morning, it had been rummaged through. I was not at the firm all Thursday, as you know, while I was out dealing with a client. I know for a fact that I sent Monsieur Grantaire to the fifth floor to work, which would have left you in the - frankly, incompetent - hands of a handful of harried secretaries." Lemaire crossed his arms and leaned back, as if daring Enjolras to say something.

Enjolras frowned. "And your point is...?"

"My point," Lemaire snapped, "is that you were one of the only ones near this office on Thursday, and I know someone was looking through the Charbonneau case files."

"So?"

"So if I find out it was you, I'll report you to security!"

"You've no proof I did any such thing," Enjolras lied smoothly. He didn't like lying, even detested liars, but lying to Lemaire and lying to, say, Combeferre, were two very different things.

"I've already reported the leakage of classified files, Enjolras, do you really want to know what would happen if they found out it was you?"

"Like I said, you've got no proof."

"You haven't denied it."

"Should I put it in writing? Sign a contract?"

_"Is it true."_

"It's not true," Enjolras said wryly.

Lemaire huffed at him. "I'll tell mother and father you're being difficult, I swear I will, Enjolras. You've been like this since you were a child, but here I am your boss and you will treat me as such."

"Of course. And while you accuse me of looking through your petty files I'll tell mother and father what you did that summer at the lake house. I doubt you would fare any better than I, in that case."

Lemaire turned several interesting shades of red and hissed at his brother. "You really are a royal pain in my ass, you know that?"

"I resent the insinuation of royal heritage," Enjolras deadpanned.

Just as Lemaire looked like he was about to explode, Enjolras jumped out of his seat and opened the door. "Anyway, good talk," he said quickly before slamming the door and fleeing back to his desk.

*

Grantaire's head snapped up as Enjolras slammed Lemaire's door shut and beelined for his desk, sitting with a huff of relief. They made awkward eye contact again, and Grantaire quickly looked away.

"Um..." Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. "Do you think you could help me arrange these files? Lemaire's gonna need them tomorrow in court."

Enjolras nodded and drew up a chair beside him, sitting as far away as possible. Grantaire bit his lip.

"So, I was thinking we should start with the current, brief case summary followed by a presentation of the evidence in the defendant's favor, and then allow space for the defendant's testimony," Grantaire muttered, handing Enjolras a stack of papers clipped together.

"Why in his favor first?" Enjolras asked.

"Because we're trying to win a case here," Grantaire said, as if explaining it to a toddler.

"But ignoring evidence against him won't do you any good in the long run."

"Why not?" Grantaire asked, infuriatingly calm

"It'll look like you're hiding something," Enjolras said, trying to match his counterpart's patient tone.

"We're not hiding anything."

"But if there's evidence in favor of the defendant, there's bound to be evidence not in his favor," Enjolras insisted.

"Of course there is, this is law. Any opposing points to our client will be made by the other party."

"But if Lemaire states a few of the opposing pieces it'll stick more in the minds of the jurors. Not only that, it'll make the defendant look honest, like he knows his shortcomings and is admitting to them. It's endearing to judges," the blonde argued back calmly.

"How do you figure?" Grantaire still had not made eye contact with the teen.

"It's a creative license tool; we learned about it in a lecture a while back," Enjolras said, absentmindedly tugging at a stray curl.

"This is the way it's always been done," Grantaire says patiently. "Lemaire wouldn't go for it. And, not to disappoint, but I haven't got much creative license."

"Oh, bullshit."

Grantaire finally looked up, shocked to hear profanity falling from such perfect lips. He bit his cheek. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Let's stop dancing around for a moment. We both know what happened on Saturday. I saw you up on that stage." Grantaire flushed violently, cursing whatever deity was above that he didn't believe in, as Enjolras’ intense gaze forced him to maintain eye contact.

Grantaire sighed. "Yeah, about that-"

"'Haven't got much creative license' my ass. You're incredibly talented, Grantaire," Enjolras interrupted.

The roaring in Grantaire’s ears almost took away from the slight blush high on Enjolras’ cheeks, betraying his stoic expression. "I'm not talented," he said weakly."

"You are. I've never met anyone quite like you," Enjolras said bluntly. The flush of his cheeks became more pronounced; his face in that moment was something any artist would die to paint.

Grantaire watched him closely. "I'm really not."

Enjolras turned away, fiddling with the papers. "You would not be disappointed, I think, if you could see the art you create," he said softly.

At that, Grantaire gave up hope for hiding his blush. That angelic creature flushing shyly beside him must be some sort of demon sent to capture unsuspecting twenty-somethings with little impulse control. He shifted in his seat and said nothing.

Grantaire noted Enjolras’ dimples when he took the evidence against the defendant and added it to the pile.

The silence between them was warm, waiting, almost as if expecting something.

*

"So, that's quite a nice bruise you've got there," Grantaire teased.

Bahorel grinned, his hand coming up almost unconsciously to brush against the purple mark on his jaw. "Thanks. It hurts like hell."

"I'm not surprised. You got your ass kicked by that little shrimp," Grantaire snorted, relaxing back into his chair. The little cafe bustled with life around them, the lunch hour rush filling the building with lively chatter and the sounds of the kitchen.

"Like hell he did. I could've flattened him if I weren't so nice. I don't like fucking with people that much smaller than me," Bahorel said, unconcerned.

"Sure, sure," Grantaire assured him, shaking his head. "You're a goddamn saint. I'm sure that's why you let him give you that." He gestured to Bahorel's jaw.

Bahorel frowned back, drumming his fingers against the table. "Like I said, he was like half my size. _Obviously_ an unfair fight."

"Wimp."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, the Bahorel I know would have knocked that guy flat no matter how skinny he was. You've gone soft." Grantaire winked.

Bahorel scowled back at him, arms crossed. "You're in a disgustingly good mood today."

"I suppose I am."

"Why?"

"Something in the air, I guess. So speaking of which, who was that twig?"

Bahorel grunted at him, arms still crossed. "His name's Montparnasse. We used to pub crawl together."

"Uh-huh. Old pal, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Bahorel muttered.

"Why's this the first I've heard of him? If he's an old pal." Grantaire blinked innocently.

"Never thought he was important enough to mention, is all."

"Right. Where did you two go? I'm assuming not another bar."

"What?"

"You followed him out. Where'd you go?"

"We hung out. That's it."

"Right, right, I don't judge, I just-"

"Oh, fuck off, you wish it was like that."

"Yeah, and I'm not the only one apparently." Grantaire laughed. "Touchy subject?"

"Go fuck yourself. Or find some blonde twink to do it for you," Bahorel grumbled, aiming a swift kick at Grantaire’s shin under the table.

Grantaire dodged it easily, bringing a hand to his heart mockingly. "You wound me." Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Well, I sense we're verging on feelings territory, so I'll provide a seamless change of topic; you'll _never_ guess who I ran into on Saturday."

Bahorel blanched visibly. "Oh yeah? Who?"

Grantaire put on his best mask of innocence. "Well, wouldn't you be surprised to know it was our very own - er - _blonde twink_. At the Corinthe, of all places! Funny, huh?"

"Really." Bahorel's eyebrows were dangerously close to his hairline.

"Yeah! And you know, to tell the truth, he didn't seem all that pleased that I knew he was there. Ran like the wind the minute I saw him."

"Huh."

"I would never have pegged him as the type to visit a sleezy, run-down bar late Saturday night, but hey, you learn something new every day."

"Right."

"You don't look to good, 'Rel," Grantaire said, ominously tapping his fingers against the table. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

"You know, I actually have to get going. The terrible world of law awaits me and the boss is restless," Bahorel said quickly, grabbing his coat and slipping quickly out the door.

Grantaire smirked as he watched him go, crossing his arms. "Serves you right, asshole!" he called to his retreating figure.

*

The sun was setting over the rooftops as Grantaire packed his bag, watching the clouds roll across the sky through a window. His hand hovered over the case file before he thought _fuck it._ Some things could wait. He needed a decent sleep tonight.

His mind was far away from the office as he stepped outside, blueish-grey lighting covering the city like a heavy blanket. Maybe he would paint tonight - something brilliant and bold and striking, full of reds and golds. Shining like the sun.

"Grantaire!

The man stopped and turned, seeing Enjolras hurrying towards him. "Hi!" he said quickly.

"Oh, hey, Enjolras. What's up?" Grantaire's grip subconsciously tightened on his bag.

"I was wondering if tomorrow I could get back to working in the filing room."

Grantaire laughed a little before he could stop himself. "I thought you hated the filing room. Paperwork's not exactly your forte."

"You could give me another chance. I might surprise you," Enjolras said proudly, a smug look on his face. Grantaire screamed internally.

"Sure. If you'd like, I think that'd be fine."

The blonde's face split into a big grin, and Grantaire’s new favorite enemies - those stupid dimples - made their appearance.

"Do you have another performance soon?" Enjolras blurted out suddenly.

"Uh... next week," Grantaire said nervously. "Why?"

"I think you're a good musician," Enjolras said firmly, his long, pale fingers fiddling with his sleeve. "I'd like to hear you again." He gave another smile, less blinding than the first, and tugged his bag up higher on his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Grantaire."

And then he left, like it was as easy as that.

"Goodnight," Grantaire muttered weakly after him.

That night, while composing a new song based on Enjolras’ words that day, Grantaire fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this too much; I hope you enjoyed reading it! Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night and the lights are low (featuring Enjolras' Inky Coffee and the Amazing Truth About Grantaire).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I just spent a week writing horrible, soul-crippling angst I promised almost a month ago for another fic and decided it was time for some sugary fluff. Enjoy!

"Hey, Mr. Grumpy Gills," Courfeyrac teased, tugging Enjolras’ hair lightly. "What's the matter?"

"Don't quote Finding Nemo at me," Enjolras grumbled, "and don't pull my hair. I'm fine."

"Geez, you're such a stick in the mud. It's a _party_. At the apartment of our new acquaintances. Lighten up."

Enjolras turned to flop onto his bed, but sighed in defeat when he saw Gavroche bouncing gleefully on the pristine sheets. "Lighten up!" he parroted annoyingly.

"You've been jumpy all week," Combeferre said calmly, pulling on his ever-practical sweater vest in the corner. "Is everything okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure," Enjolras said absentmindedly. "You know, I was thinking, maybe I shouldn't go. I'm not a party guy, I suck at small talk, I really-"

"Enj. Stop." Courfeyrac checked himself out in Combeferre's mirror. "You look fine. Your hair is perfect and your ass looks great in those jeans." Enjolras scowled. "And anyway, what would your little friends at work think if you chickened out of a movie night?"

"That I'm a stick in the mud, apparently," Enjolras said dryly.

"Enough." Combeferre smiled and pushed Courfeyrac over a little bit. "He's just anxious, that's all. He doesn't want to see Grantaire."

"Why?" The glee in Courfeyrac's eyes was unmistakable as he clung to Combeferre's shoulders.

"Shut up, Ferre," Enjolras muttered, grabbing his red coat. "Let's just get this over with."

"Yeah, what an ordeal," Courfeyrac snorted, slinging Gavroche onto his hip. "I hope we'll survive the night. Now move it."

*

"Get off your ass and help me out here!"

Grantaire hovered casually in the kitchen doorway, watching as Musichetta struggled in the living room, hauling a second couch in front of the TV.

Bossuet stumbled past Grantaire, his foot catching on the carpet. "I'm here, I'm here."

"Great, move that end of the couch, since apparently R’s arms are broken." Musichetta glared at Grantaire in the doorway. He blew her a kiss and walked back into the kitchen.

Cosette was perched on the little table, ankles crossed, chatting animatedly with Bahorel. Behind them, Joly was busy lining herbs in little pots along the counter.

"So you excited for tonight? I hear someone's got a crush," Joly said in a singsong voice, grabbing his cane and turning to lean against the counter.

"Whatever Bahorel said is a lie," Grantaire said calmly. "What's in the fridge?"

"For you, nonalcoholic beer." Joly leaned determinedly onto his cane and walked out to the living room.

Grantaire sighed loudly. "Sometimes being sober sucks."

"Don't you mean all the time?" Bahorel breezed past Grantaire with a grin. "Is Jehan still admiring Joly’s garden on the windowsill?"

"Probably," Cosette said dreamily. "It's beautiful."

"I need new friends," Grantaire said dramatically, following Cosette out of the kitchen.

"You love us." Cosette tossed her hair proudly and smiled sweetly at Grantaire over her shoulder.

*

"Hey Enj!" Cosette called cheerfully, throwing her arms around Enjolras’ neck as soon as he walked through the front door. "Nice to see you outside of the office!"

"Thanks, Cosette." Enjolras gave her a shaky smile. "You should go find Marius," he said conspiritoraly. "He hasn't stopped talking about you since last week."

Cosette giggled, smiling brightly. "Really?"

Enjolras nodded. "Go."

Combeferre snuck up beside his blonde friend, nudging him slightly. "Don't be standoffish. Go say hello."

Enjolras gave Combeferre a pleading look that did absolutely nothing to sway the bespectacled man.

"What are we watching?" Bahorel called to Musichetta across the room, rather unnecessarily loud.

"We're binging the Iron Man trilogy," she said, met with a pretty even mix of groans and cheers. "Hey, if you haven't had the privilege yet of seeing them I assure you this will change your world."

"Sit."

A large hand that probably belonged to Bahorel (or Feuilly, who really knew) clapped Enjolras on the shoulder and shoved him into the couch.

"You know that was-" Enjolras was cut off by a gentle poke to his left side. He turned his head.

Grantaire smiled sheepishly back at him. "Hey."

"Hey." Enjolras smiled back, and the nervous pangs from that evening disappeared.

"You ever seen these movies before?" Grantaire asked conversationally.

"Yeah, actually. Courfeyrac's obsessed with them." Enjolras looked at his lap. _Dear god, I'd better not be blushing._ "What do you think of them?"

"Oh, you know." Grantaire laughed. "I'd say that, out of most Marvel superheroes Iron Man is the most relatable for me, but that's not exactly a compliment."

Enjolras smiled and sat back, trying to relax.

He looked around the room, so easy and comfortable, cozy. Not even because of the little apartment, draped with blankets and pillows and knickknacks and lamps, but the group, so talkative and comfortable and warm. It was something Enjolras had not felt since he was very, very young. It felt like home, like family.

In the corner, Musichetta flicked off the light, bathing the room in a bright blue glow from the TV. On the screen, Robert Downey Jr. was being blown up or something, Enjolras wasn't quite sure. He was much more focused on the way Grantaire seemed to have an absentminded habit of drumming his fingers against his thigh, tapping in time with his foot. _Maybe he's nervous,_ Enjolras thought, shaking his head as soon as it came into his mind.

As much as some people in the room seemed to adore the movie, everyone was split off into their own little worlds, chatting softly. By the time Tony began building the first metal suit almost no one was paying attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw Grantaire turn to him. "So. I've been thinking about that whole thing we were talking about the other day. About listing evidence against our client."

"Oh yeah?" Enjolras shifted, angling himself towards Grantaire. As they were sharing the sofa with (the incredibly handsy) Courfeyrac and Jehan, there was no way to prevent the tight squeeze or the way their legs were pressed solidly together.

"Mm-hmm." Grantaire bites his lip in a most aggravating way. "I was wondering... what else have you learned? About that creative license, or whatever."

Enjolras laughed. "Didn't you learn about it too? At university? Surely you must have, they're not new concepts."

"Yeah, right," Grantaire snorted. "Sure. I assumed you knew this, but I never went to law school. I don't have a law degree."

"What? How is that possible? You work at a law firm."

"It wasn't exactly the plan. I went to art school."

Enjolras blinked at him. "Art school. You went to art school."

"And got a degree." Grantaire winked at him.

Enjolras ignored the pounding in his ears. "Then how did you get hired at a-"

Beside them, Jehan leaned on top of Courfeyrac, his long blonde hair curtaining them as he whispers something in his ear. Courfeyrac moans lowly, and suddenly Enjolras’ life mission is to move as far away from that uncomfortable situation into the even worse placement of Grantaire’s lap.

"Jesus, Courf, your brother's in the room," Enjolras muttered, trying to shift away from Grantaire while keeping as much distance as possible from the tangled up couple beside him.

"It's fine, he's distracted," Courfeyrac said, vaguely gesturing towards Gavroche on the floor, arm wrestling with Bahorel.

Grantaire laughed, subtly shifting away from Enjolras, cheeks flaming. _Shit, I embarrassed him._ Enjolras huffed. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. What were we saying?"

"You have an art degree but you work in law. How?"

Grantaire shrugged. "I've known Bahorel for a while. He called in a favor with Valjean, I had an internship, crawled my way up to personal secretary." He smiled. "At least I make actual money this way."

Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, debating. "I'd like to see your art."

"Sorry?"

"Your art. I'd like to see some. And don't tell me you don't have any; you don't just earn a degree in art without having at least one crappy sketchbook."

Grantaire laughed, more easily that time. "Close. For my art, I pride myself on having slightly better than crappy supplies." Enjolras smiled back. "Maybe I'll even show you, one day."

"You should. I've seen enough of your talent before. You're good."

"Stop it."

"I'm serious! You shouldn't be so self depricating." Enjolras nudged him with his elbow playfully. "You're a good musician, Grantaire, I don't doubt you're a good artist."

Grantaire made a strange face and looked at his hands in his lap. "Call me R," he said.

"R?"

"Yeah, get it? It's a pun, you know, because my name's-"

"No, no, I get it." Enjolras grinned at him. "Okay. R. Tell me more about your art."

Grantaire smiled at leaned back into the couch, launching into a long tirade about a reimagining of the 1832 June Rebellion he was working on.

Unconsciously, Enjolras leaned closer, smiling softly and letting the words wash over him.

*

So apparently the streets of Paris were colder at night than they seemed. Enjolras bitterly huddled up tighter in his coat, muttering a string of oaths. Stupid Courfeyrac and his stupid adorable new boyfriend. As soon as Courfeyrac had announced the party happening in Combeferre and Enjolras’ shared flat, Enjolras was well on his way out. Combeferre, reading his textbooks, had simply shrugged and turned the page. Apparently the movie night yesterday had inspired the mood.

Now walking down the brightly lit streets late on a Saturday night, Enjolras had no idea where to go. Right about now, inside and warm was sounding great. Up ahead was a string of cafés, maybe they would still be open.

The blast of heat that hit him was both overwhelming and welcome when the doors opened.

It was slow, sluggish inside, only about ten people milling around. The lights were low, the smell of coffee intense and strong. Enjolras flopped into a stiff chair by the window and closed his eyes.

There was a Socratic Seminar in Poli-Sci on Wednesday; Enjolras should be preparing himself for it, maybe rewrite his notes, revise his main points-

"Enjolras?"

His eyes fluttered open and he sat up, focusing in on-

"Hey! Uh, what's up?"

Grantaire grinned at him, walking to the table and hovering awkwardly.

"Oh, hey, I didn't see you there." He ran a hand through his ratty hair. "Um, why don't you sit?"

The other man smiled, taking the empty chair across from him. He was looking oddly at Enjolras, almost like he was choking, and Enjolras was just starting to get self conscious when he realized he was still wearing those ridiculous, thick-rimmed glasses that he _never wore outside ever until suddenly now._

"I didn't know you wore glasses," Grantaire said, and now he was laughing a little.

Enjolras went warm. "I don't, really, I just didn't plan on going out in public today so I never put in my contacts." _And trust me, if I weren't as blind as a bat I'd be taking them off right now._

Grantaire's laughter faded, and he smiled, a little sweeter, softer. "I like them."

Enjolras shivered, laughed nervously. "Thanks?" He cleared his throat. "So, what are you doing in a café at 9:12 on a Saturday evening?"

"Well, I could ask you the same thing. I like to walk the streets at night. It lends to good artistic inspiration. And you? Somehow I feel you've got a different reason."

"Courfeyrac is throwing a party. If you knew him as well as I do, you'd know that's not something, er, particularly safe to stay around long."

"Right, right." Grantaire sized Enjolras up. "You should let me buy you a coffee."

Enjolras' brain short-circuited for some reason he didn't want to think about. "Okay."

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn't expected Enjolras to agree. "How do you take yours?"

"Black, like ink."

"You're inhuman."

"I suppose you like sugar and cream?"

"Or really any kind of sweetener. Like most people on Earth."

"I'm not like most people on Earth."

"Believe me, I know."

Enjolras laughed warmly.

When the coffee arrived, Enjolras made eye contact with Grantaire as he took a sip. Grantaire made a face.

"How can you drink that?" he asked incredulously, stirring in his third sugar packet.

Enjolras laughed at his expression. "It keeps me awake better. Too much sugar just makes me drowsy."

"And you want to stay awake tonight?"

"Maybe." He played with his cup. "What are you doing after this?"

"Nothing."

He didn't look up. "Maybe you could keep me company. If you want to."

His eyes flickered up.

Grantaire was watching him with amazement, blue eyes wide. He hitched a crooked grin. "Yeah. Why not?"

When they left the café later, Grantaire held the door, and suddenly Enjolras could no longer feel the night's chill.

*

"So you're telling me that you were an actual commission artist after university?"

"Sure was." Grantaire looked down, hands in his pockets, strolling beside his taller counterpart. "I quit after a while, needed to find something that would make real money."

"What made you decide on legal assistant?"

"A job opening." Grantaire laughed.

Enjolras rolled his eyes in turn. "What job would you rather have?"

"I dunno. Maybe run an art gallery. Teach a sculpture class. How about a tour guide at the Louvre?" Grantaire teased. Enjolras chuckled.

"Be serious."

"I am wild."

*

"Well, I was born and raised in Nîmes," Grantaire said as they walked past the university.

Enjolras ran his eyes over the lights in the distance. "Do you still have family there?"

"Yeah. My mom, and my little sister."

"What about your father?"

"He died."

"Oh." Enjolras suddenly felt lost, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was an insufferable old sot that was good for nothing except reminding me of how disappointing I was."

Enjolras grimaced. "I understand."

"He thought I would be a mathematician, you know. Make lots of money." Grantaire quickly looked over at Enjolras. "But you don't want to hear about that."

"I don't mind," the blonde said earnestly. For the first time in his life he had an overwhelming desire to explain himself to someone, tell his side of the story. "My parents are the same way. They wanted me to major in business, take on my father's company one day."

"What about your brother?"

"For once he actually stood up for himself against them. I think it was the only time, too." Enjolras worried at his lip. "He wanted to be a lawyer, so did I. Unfortunately, neither dear old mother or father were fond of that idea."

"Can't imagine why."

Enjolras cracked a smile.

*

"So wait," Grantaire gasped, snorting with laughter. "When you were little you _actually-_ "

"Yeah." Enjolras shook his head. "I know. My parents wanted me to take lessons, thought it would make me stand out more than I already did."

"Were you any good?"

"I still play."

"Okay, _are_ you any good?" Grantaire clarified.

"Well, that depends. Do you count winning a national piano competition at the age of twelve as good?"

Grantaire gawked at him. "Okay, now I know you're an alien."

"I took dancing lessons too. And singing."

"Dancing?" Grantaire slowed to look at the blonde. "You dance?"

"Ballet, ballroom, waltz. Pretty much just the classics. Don't ask me to riverdance or anything."

"Huh. Me too. Except not so classic, you know. Salsa, hip hop, etc. And pole dancing."

Enjolras went pale. "You know how to pole dance."

"Don't ask for a demonstration, it'd scar you for life."

*

"So what other hobbies do you have?" Enjolras fiddled with the gold buttons on his coat.

"Um, the dancing. And the painting, singing and guitar, you know those. I also fence, box, and wrestle. Sculpt sometimes, if I find inspiration and have supplies."

Enjolras gave him a look of disgusted admiration. "You're amazing."

"I'm not."

"Look at the stuff you create and tell me you're not talented."

"Okay, Baby Mozart."

"Hey! That's different!"

Grantaire winked at him. "Don't force me to appreciate my work if you won't appreciate yours."

Enjolras scowled. Grantaire laughed.

*

When they finally came to a stop outside of the university apartments, Enjolras was reluctant to leave. The window to his and Ferre's flat was dark, the party already over.

"So," Grantaire said slowly.

"So," Enjolras replied, studying Grantaire’s face. No, he definitely wasn't handsome, but there was something in his voice that seemed beautiful, rich, multifaceted.

"It's ten to midnight."

"I guess it is."

"We've been walking the city for over two hours."

"I didn't notice." Enjolras smiled shyly.

"I had a good time."

"So did I," Enjolras agreed, surprised to find it was the truth.

"Maybe we should do this again sometime," Grantaire continued, looking at the ground. "If you want, I mean, I'm not sure exactly if this is professional of us to be hanging out outside work but-"

"R," Enjolras interrupted, smiling. "It's probably fine. I mean, you're friends with people outside work too. And I'd love to do this again. You're great company."

"Thanks." Grantaire grinned at the pavement. "You're not so bad yourself."

"So I'll see you Monday, then?"

"It's a date," Grantaire said. He suddenly blushed, eyes wide, spluttering. "No, no, I didn't mean a _date_ , I meant, like, yes, I'll see you then. I'm sure you knew that." He cleared his throat. "I should go."

"Oh." Enjolras shifted on his feet. "Okay. Well, goodnight then, R."

Grantaire gave Enjolras a look that was so overwhelmingly soft and tender it took his breath away. "Goodnight, Enj."

And at the nickname and the low tenor of his voice and the sudden euphoria taking over his mind, Enjolras surged forward and threw his arms around Grantaire’s neck, hugging him tightly.

It was warm, like Courfeyrac's smile or Combeferre's laughter. It was like home. Grantaire was frozen for a brief millisecond before hugging him back, tight and sure. He smelled like smoke and wood and oil paints and everything Enjolras never even knew could smell comforting until now.

He pulled back, blushing. "Bye, R."

He was surprised to see Grantaire blushing too. "Night," he muttered quietly.

Enjolras turned and entered the building, heart pounding.

*

Combeferre leaned over, looking out the window over Courfeyrac's shoulder as Grantaire and Enjolras exchanged shy goodnights. He laughed, and Courfeyrac nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.

"Look, Ferre! Our baby's all grown up!" he cooed, leaning on his elbows.

"I guess he is."

"Oh my god, I think they're going to-" Courfeyrac let out a tiny scream as Enjolras lunged forward, throwing his arms around a shocked Grantaire.

"I can't believe it," Combeferre said evenly, as if the clingy pair on the pavement below was some sort of lab experiment.

"Right?? They're so-" he sighed dreamily as they pulled apart, blushing. "It's like a fairytale."

Combeferre moved away from the window as Enjolras entered the building, pulling Courfeyrac away with him. "Come on. Don't mention any of that to him."

"Why?" Courf whined.

"Because, that's private. If Enj wants to tell us he'll tell us."

"Do you think they're in love?"

Combeferre turned away, stacking his books on the desk so Courfeyrac couldn't see his smile. "I don't know, Courf."

He closed his eyes, thinking of all the years his best friend had spent alone and lonely, and thought _I certainly hope so._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, gotta love that pining. Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

"Good morning," Grantaire called as he rushed past the filing room on his way to his desk.

"Morning," Enjolras called back, emerging with a briefcase crammed with papers.

"What's that?" Grantaire dropped his things at his desk, turned on the computer, went through the motions. Enjolras lugged the briefcase over and heaved it onto his desk.

"Lemaire asked me to clear out all these things for him. He said they're important."

"Ah, yes." Grantaire opened the latest email from Valjean. "It's a big day, you know. Your brother's got that divorce and custody case today. Pretty major."

"I know, he hasn't shut up about it all month."

Grantaire smiled, recalling fondly his boss' ranting at his secretary and intern for the past two weeks about this case, nonstop. Enjolras and Grantaire would exchange eye rolls across the room and hide behind their computer monitors until Lemaire got tired and left.

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something as he pulled out a bundle of police reports, but before he could Lemaire suddenly burst from his office, door slamming against the wall.

"Enjolras, what are you doing? I needed those papers ten minutes ago, hurry up. This is very important," he grumbled, grabbing the stack and rushing back to the little room.

Enjolras sighed and sat at his desk, pushing aside some books. "We won't have anything to do with this, right?"

"Nope." Grantaire didn't look up from his computer. "We're just gonna stay here today. Lemaire's got a specific assistant for the courtroom. Speaking of which," he pushed back from the desk a little to stick his head into Lemaire's office, "Lemaire, who'd you get for the court assist?"

"Uh," Lemaire called back, probably rifling through his papers for the umpteenth time, "I think it was le Cabuc. I don't know."

"Wait, Cabuc, you said?" Grantaire turned back to his computer, opening his email inbox again. "That can't be. Cabuc called in today, says the baby was crying all night." Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Knowing him he's probably just hungover as fuck," he muttered to himself.

"What??" Lemaire burst back into the main office. "What do you mean, he's not coming in? He has to, we don't have a backup! Get Valjean on the phone, figure this out. I have to be at the courthouse in 45 minutes!"

And with that he whirled back to his desk.

Enjolras grinned at Grantaire as the secretary picked up the phone, rolling his eyes. One ring, and then Valjean picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Valjean, it's Grantaire."

"Ah, yes. What can I do for you?"

"Well, you know today's Lemaire's case, in about two hours, and he was just having me check in in regards to the court assist?"

"Yes?"

"Well, you have le Cabuc slotted in for it, but he... wasn't able to show for work, and you can imagine that Lemaire is having a field day-"

"Send the intern."

"I'm sorry?"

"Send the intern with him, his brother. Enjolras, no? Send Enjolras."

Grantaire blinked. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure that-"

"Listen, Grantaire, I understand where your worry is coming from. However, you should know that, as an intern, Enjolras is expected to have responsibilities outside the firm. His purpose is to learn from his surroundings. Being in the court would certainly benefit him."

"Yes, I'm sure, but I don't know if he or Lemaire would be wild about that idea-"

"Give them a little credit. Even the most stubborn people can surprise you, Grantaire. You surprised me when you applied for his job, and look at where you are now."

Grantaire laughed nervously. "It's just-"

"Have a little faith, Grantaire. Enjolras will do fine. Send him in Cabuc's place. Understand?"

Grantaire sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Grantaire. Tell Lemaire I look forward to the results."

He swallowed. "Of course."

"Have a good day."

The line went dead, and Grantaire hung up the reciever.

"Well?" Enjolras prompted eagerly, watching him with curious eyes.

"What did he say?" Lemaire shouted from within the depths of a filing cabinet.

"He, uh..." Grantaire cleared his throat. "He said he looks forward to your results and... he said to send Enjolras."

The clamoring in Lemaire's office suddenly cut off. He popped his head through the doorway. "What?"

"He said to send Enjolras as the court assist."

Lemaire made a pained face. "No. No, literally anyone else, just not Enjolras, this is too important, he can't-"

"Hey!" Enjolras protested, standing up angrily. "I'm perfectly capable, thank you very much!"

"Why can't you go?" Lemaire snapped at Grantaire. "You're my assistant, after all!"

"Not like that, Lemaire. And Enjolras does need the experience. You know, as part of his internship." He straightened up, trying to exude some of Enjolras' effortless confidence. "Besides, Valjean specifically requested-"

"I could give a damn about what Madeline says, Enjolras is my brother and ergo cannot-"

"I don't know, Lemaire," Grantaire interrupted, starting to get annoyed. What was it about Enjolras that irritated Lemaire so much?? "No matter what you think, Madeline is your boss. And if you don't take Enjolras you won't have an assist at all."

Just as Lemaire looked like he was about to blow up, he sighed and pulled a hand through his rumpled brown hair. "You know what? Fine, fine, he can come along, I don't care! But _you_." He pointed an accusing finger at Enjolras. " _You_ had better not screw this up, you hear me? I need this win!" And he left again.

Enjolras sat slowly down again, eyes trained on the ground, deep in thought.

Grantaire turned back to his protégé. "You okay over there?"

Enjolras nodded. "Yeah. Do I look okay? For the court, I mean?"

Grantaire bit back his sarcastic comment of how Enjolras never looked simply "okay" and instead said, "Yes, of course, you look fine. And you'll do great."

"Okay, come on," Lemaire sighed, stepping out of his office yet again, now threading his arms through his coat, briefcase and laptop at his feet. "We should get going. It'll do good to arrive early, give us some more time to work with Charbonneau. Grantaire, can you come with us to debrief Enjolras as much as you can before we get there?"

"Yes, of course." Grantaire turned off his monitor and stood, grabbing his blazer and the papers Lemaire proffered him.

In the car Lemaire stayed glued to his phone, on a call to either an associate or the client himself, while Grantaire and Enjolras sat together, going over the case as quickly as possible. As Grantaire spoke, Enjolras slowly shifted closer, pressing their bodies together, eyes anxious and wide.

The car pulled up in front of the courthouse, and Lemaire immediately left with his things without a word, still dictating instructions over the phone. Enjolras looked up at Grantaire. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"I don't think I can do this."

"Hey. Listen to me." Grantaire put down the papers, awkwardly angling his body towards the teenager in the backseat. "You're going to do fine. We've debated about this very case before. We've gone over all the major points. You can do this."

"No, I really can't," Enjolras hissed back, tugging at his blonde curls. "I lied back at the office, okay? I'm not perfectly capable, I just can't do it, you need to go in-"

"Enjolras. I have work at the office. I know you can do it." Enjolras began to shake his head, and Grantaire grabbed him by the shoulders. "Enj, please. Remember when you asked me what I believe in? I think I know now."

"You don't believe in anything," Enjolras said weakly.

"I believe in you," Grantaire said firmly, blue eyes staring into blue eyes. He looked at him intensely. "I do. I think if anyone could do this, it's you. Okay?"

"Grantaire." Enjolras suddenly grabbed Grantaire's wrists. "It was me. I did it."

Grantaire frowned. "What?"

"I did it, R, I was the one who snuck into Lemaire's office! I read the classified files and now I know things about the case that I shouldn't and I can't use them because I lied!" he whispered, panicking.

Grantaire suddenly felt removed, confused. He gave the blonde a dismayed look. "You do realize that's illegal, right, Enj? They could get rid of you for that, you could get in serious trouble."

"I know, I know, it was stupid, but I couldn't tell him the truth and so I lied and now I can't go out and tell the truth but-"

"Okay," Grantaire interrupted, pulling himself together. "Okay. Listen. This is what you're going to do. You're going to do your job in that courtroom, and that's it. You won't speak unless asked to, and if it wasn't brought up in discussion don't mention it. Okay? I promise, everything will be fine. Just don't screw up."

Enjolras gave him a look that was honestly unreadable, but before Grantaire could ask what he was thinking about, Enjolras threw his arms around Grantaire’s neck and hugged him close.

"Thank you, Grantaire," he mumbled into his shoulder.

Grantaire readily hugged him back. "Knock 'em dead, Apollo."

Enjolras pulled back and raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Grantaire just smiled and winked. "Now go. Good luck."

And with one last smile and a squeeze of the hand, Enjolras took his papers and followed his brother into the ostentatious building.

Grantaire sighed and sat back in his seat as the car pulled away, heading back to the office, and he closed his eyes. It was hardly ten in the morning and he already needed a drink and a smoke, goddammit.

*

"We won the case."

Enjolras' voice was exhausted but triumphant over the phone, something that was much more appealing to Grantaire than it should be. He smiled to himself, imagining how Enjolras would be divested of blazer and tie by now, blonde curls rumpled and cheeks pink with victory. The idea pleased Grantaire almost too much.

"I knew you could do it," he said, leaning back in his chair, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't too hard after all. We had a solid case and Olivier presented it well, we had it in the bag."

"What'd they ask you to do?"

"I had to sit second chair with Lemaire at one point, but mostly he just made me prepare documents and files for mediation and presentation."

"Was it dramatic?"

"Not really. Mostly just from Mlle. Bouchard, she was a little crazy." Enjolras laughed warmly, and the sound made Grantaire grin stupidly.

"Hey, listen, Bahorel invited your brother to the Corinthe after he gets out today, a bunch of people from the office are going out to celebrate. You're welcome to come. Maybe bring your friends, I'll bring mine. Weirdly enough, they seem to love each other."

Enjolras laughed again. "That sounds really nice, actually. I'll call everyone. I'm pretty sure they'd love to; they're wild about each other."

Grantaire laughed. "I'll see you later then, okay?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Congratulations, Enj. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, R."

When he hung up, Grantaire was still grinning like an idiot, and not even Bahorel and Bossuet's teasing could kill his mood.

*

That night, the music and crowd at the Corinthe was even louder and rowdier. Somehow, it didn't seem to effect anyone's mood that time.

It was almost like Courfeyrac and Jehan weren't trying anymore, their mouths glued together with kisses and laughter since the moment they saw each other, tangled up. Around the table were Marius and Cosette, Bahorel and Feuilly, Combeferre and Joly talking loudly about some new medical equipment at the hospital, Bossuet knocking over his glass on accident and Musichetta catching it gracefully, Lemaire and the rest of the team at the bar already.

"So, you don't drink?"

Enjolras turned to look at Grantaire,  smiling slightly at the nonalcoholic wine in his glass.

"Not anymore," he said smoothly, hoping to gloss over that particular topic. "And I'm assuming you don't, either?" He gestured to Enjolras’ almost full beer bottle.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, and it wasn't until Grantaire took in the blonde's rosy cheeks and blown pupils that he realized Enjolras was a bit of a lightweight and had probably taken that last comment as a challenge. Indeed, maintaining perfect eye contact the while time, Enjolras tipped the bottle back and downed almost half of it in one go.

Grantaire stared at him in amazement. "God, you're drunk."

"Incorrect." Enjolras thumped the bottle back onto the table. "I'm not drunk. I am simply tipsy." He fluttered his long blonde eyelashes.

"Right, right," Grantaire chuckled. "Why don't you just pass that over here-" he grabbed the bottle.

Enjolras grasped his wrist firmly. "Hey, no fair," he giggled, playfully tugging at Grantaire’s arm. "Give that here."

"Fuck!"

Across the table, Courfeyrac and Jehan's wild making out had caused the table to momentarily tip, skewing full and half full cups all over.

"God, am I the only sober one here?" Grantaire muttered to himself as the rest of them laughed good naturedly. He noted the fruity cocktail now artfully splashed all over Enjolras’ white button up, and didn't know whether to laugh or sigh at his confused expression. He settled for an affectionate eye roll and stood up, pulling Enjolras with him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned," he said, leading the blonde through the throng of people, earning a few enthusiastic recognitions from some of the bar's regulars.

In the bathroom, Enjolras leaned slightly against the wall, intensely watching Grantaire dampen a few paper towels at the sinks. "Why don't you drink?" he asked slowly.

Grantaire glanced up to him, seeing that his electric blue eyes were dark and cloudy with alcohol. He shrugged. "Because, I, uh..." he paused, dabbing at the pink stain on Enjolras’ white shirt, far too experienced at removing alcohol stains.

"I used to drink. A lot. Too much. It made me change. I'd blackout, have violent episodes... it wasn't a person I wanted to be. So I quit drinking, smoking, the drugs, everything. And now I don't do any of it."

Enjolras nodded, and bit his pretty red lips, watching Grantaire’s hands at work. "I don't think you could be that mean," he said. "You're nice. You're so nice, R, you're not mean."

"Thanks, Enj," Grantaire chuckled.

He should have been expecting it. Maybe he was stupid, in hindsight, for not expecting it. Anyone else would have seen it from a mile away, but somehow Grantaire had been lost in the dark, and now it was too late.

Enjolras swayed forward, with the telltale lack of grace outlining him as inexperienced, and then his lips were soft against Grantaire’s and god, it was everything he had (not so innocently) dreamed of and more.

Enjolras was warm and soft, boneless as he essentially let Grantaire’s ramrod straight body support him, messily crashing their lips together, and _shit_ , suddenly this wasn't so fabulous anymore and it was just a drunk kiss with a seventeen year old in a pub bathroom and now Enjolras was pushing Grantaire back against the wall and _holy shit was he trying to unbutton his shirt??_

Grantaire frantically grabbed at him, finding himself kissing back but trying to stop the blonde's hands. When he finally had his wrists in a firm grip, Enjolras whined a little and pulled back briefly to take a breath before kissing Grantaire again, and damn, he could just see his walls of self-preservation crumbling before his eyes.

Okay. Grantaire hadn't taken years of boxing and dance to go down this easily to an (albeit freakishly strong) inebriated teenager close to unconsciousness. He grasped Enjolras’ wrist in his hand and pulled gently but firmly, unwinding the blonde's long, pretty fingers from his own arm. Enjolras whined in disappointment again as Grantaire pushed him away, breathing heavy.

They stood there for a few decades, simply staring at each other, and finally Grantaire cleared his throat and said quietly, "You're drunk, Enjolras. I'm going to tell Combeferre to take you home, okay?"

Enjolras pouted. "But I want-"

"No. You're drunk. We can't- _I_  can't do that to you. It's time to go home." He pulled the blonde towards the door.

"Would you kiss me if I wasn't drunk?"

Grantaire hesitated, briefly turning to see Enjolras’ suddenly alert and fiery expression. He sighed. He was too damn tired to do this right now.

"I don't know, okay? Now come on. You need to sleep."

He silently led Enjolras back to his roommate and ambiguously stated it was time for him to go home.

Watching him leave, Grantaire could only think that if he hadn't needed a drink earlier, he definitely needed one now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, life and work happened and it was awful. Also, sorry for the angst, it had to happen eventually. It will be happy again soon, I promise! I estimate that we've got about two chapters left to go, so hang in there with me! Expect another chapter this weekend, and thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is wrong, wrong, wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this scene written in my head for a while, and whenever I imagine it I always pair it with Wreck of the Day by Anna Nalick. A truly heartbreaking song. I'm sorry.

"Here. Add these dates to the end of that, the conference got extended."

Grantaire slid a few papers over towards Enjolras, sat at the opposite end of the desk, typing at the computer.

Enjolras' blue eyes glanced up, grabbing the few pages and muttering a quick, "Thanks," before getting back to work.

The least to be said was that things weren't awkward. That was all Grantaire could hope for, really. It was almost as if they had an unspoken agreement to lie and keep lying. Friendliness had remained, perhaps a bit more formal than before, an unspoken wall built up. It would be fine. They could be friends. And maybe more after Enjolras graduated and gained a few more years... but not now. Grantaire had been called a number of things in his life; cradle snatcher was not about to be one of them.

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire across the desk. "Are you going on this conference?"

"No." Grantaire ran a hand through his riotous black curls. "I'm pretty sure I'll stay at the office, keep up with clients and the likes while your brother travels. Should only be a few days," he continued, flipping through Lemaire's typed up instructions.

"Where is it? The itinerary doesn't say."

"Nice."

"Oh, okay. I'll write it here," Enjolras muttered to himself, typing away again. "Have you ever been?"

"Where?"

"To Nice."

"Oh." Grantaire thought for a moment, back to the last time he'd found himself in southern France. "A few times, when I was young. Not often, that was a three hour drive, but occasionally my parents would take the four of us down there." He smiled to himself. "It's a beach, right by Monaco, you know, so we'd play in the sand and swim."

Enjolras smiled back, imagining a small Grantaire with chubby cheeks and wild hair playing in the surf. "Did you like it?"

Grantaire looked confused at the question. "I guess, yeah. I don't really remember much, actually, I haven't been in... wow. It must be at least 18 years since I went last."

Enjolras grinned at that. "That's longer than I've been alive."

Grantaire swallowed, throat dry. "Don't remind me."

The blonde turned awkwardly back to his computer, biting his lip.

On the other screen in front of Grantaire, a notification popped up with a dignified _bing_ , signaling an email. He clicked it open, sure it must be some request or other from Lemaire.

"To: Grantaire, Hugo  
From: Fauchelevant, Cosette  
Subject: Mandatory meeting now  
Message:  
Grantaire -  
A matter of concern has revealed itself to the head of this law firm, M. Madeline, and head of security, M. Javert. Please report immediately to M. Javert's office on the fifth floor for a brief conference.

(ps he was dictating that to me I don't know what's going on but it doesn't look good :( - CF)"

Grantaire frowned, both at the odd summons and Cosette's informal postscript. Javert never called anyone to his office, as far as Grantaire knew. He turned to Enjolras.

"Hey, I just got called to the fifth floor. You'll be okay on your own for a few minutes?"

"Yes, of course. I'll just be writing memos," Enjolras answered absentmindedly. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Grantaire muttered.

The elevator music, such a cliché, seemed to bode towards something bigger as the numbers sluggishly ticked up.

*

Serious. Definitely serious. Javert was always serious, but it was more so when he was sat behind a desk in a suit.

Quick, too. Javert had always struck Grantaire as a swift-moving man, never one to sugarcoat or stall. Supervisors had noticed, apparently, that Grantaire’s relationship with the new intern had gone past the professional and due to both the superior/trainee and underage aspects, further outside connection was discouraged. Any further slip ups would not be in his favor.

That was all.

Grantaire was sent back to work, giving him a luxurious thirty seconds to panic in the elevator before arriving back at his floor.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear the clattering of keyboards as he walked back the the desk he was sharing at the moment, his own personal blonde hell flipping through his notes.

And then he knew it was no more. He needed this fucking job, and he couldn't allow it to be ruined by a temporary intern almost ten years younger than him. No way.

He silently regained his chair, keeping his eyes on the computer.

"What was that about?" Enjolras asked conversationally.

"Nothing," Grantaire said quickly. "Where are you at with those memos?"

Enjolras gave him a strange look. "I just finished. I was going to start fact checking, if that's okay...?"

"Yeah." Grantaire bit his lip, scrolling through Lemaire's instructions for the umpteenth time. "Yeah, go ahead. Thanks."

Enjolras turned back to the screen, running a hand through his hair, and Grantaire sighed and said nothing.

*

The next day, a Friday, Enjolras' day off. _It would be best that way,_ they told him. _Easier. Quieter._ And oh boy, was it quieter.  _For his own good_ , they said.

Javert wasn't even the worst part, with his sneer and air of importance. No, the worst was Madeline. Madeline did not need Javert's disgust or haughtiness to wound. He needed only quiet disappointment, sheer irritation and a few short words to cut like a knife.

Unfortunately, Madeline said, kind face grave, he had recently become aware of the younger M. de Lemaire's illegal trespassing. Not only this, Madeline had continued, but they had been notified by another source that Grantaire had been aware of de Lemaire's activity, and therefore was equally responsible. It was his job as supervisor to to monitor and report. It is was unacceptable, Madeline had said.

Javert had taken over next, droning on about gathering his things and compensations, but it was nothing, Grantaire heard none of it, Javert's words turned to a dull roaring in his ears echoing one word, one finality.

_Fired._

When it was finally over Grantaire knew he wouldn't be able to remember half of it, blocked, occupied only by the thoughts of  _what happens now?_

Swift. Swift and muted and silent, and just like that it was all over and done.

*

Enjolras had breezed into work the next Monday, focused on his unfinished filing, when he was apprehended by those men- what had they said their names were? Javert and Madeline, that was right.

His trespassing had been brought to light, Javert had began, and Enjolras felt faint. He should be reported.

However, Madeline had cut in, while Enjolras was being let go from that office it was not the end of his schooling. Thanks to his older brother's intervention, Enjolras would be sent to intern at another firm. His friend Marius Pontmercy worked there, yes?

It would be a better arrangement, Javert had said sternly. Enjolras was sent to clear his things out for the transfer.

And was immediately met by Grantaire’s empty desk.

Lemaire was stood in the doorway of his office, arms crossed.

When Enjolras confronted him, asked after Grantaire, he was met with only a disgusted look from his brother.

_You're such a child._

And with that Lemaire turned and left, shaking his head.

Back downstairs, Enjolras once again asked. Something was wrong, he knew it, and for some reason he wasn't being punished for what had happened.

Javert had only crossed his arms, sneered, said simply that _Grantaire was no longer affiliated with the firm._

And then Enjolras was sent off to the other side of the city, alone, knowing somehow he was at fault and his heart was breaking everything was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months later.

The sun was setting in the late, lazy afternoon, the golden light setting Enjolras’ fair hair ablaze, lighting up like a halo. He strolled down the pavement, head down, concentrating hard on the home research assignment he'd been set at university, wondering if maybe Courfeyrac would be up to revising together. Not today, he had to go pick up Gavroche from school, and his schedule after that was probably flirting or making out with Jehan, but tomorrow maybe...

"Enjolras?"

The blonde looked up at the call of his name, locating the limping man with a large smile.

"Hi!"

"Oh, hello." Enjolras smiled, shaking hands with the guy's arm not occupied with a cane. "Joly, right?"

"Yes, yes." The man smiled brightly. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Yeah, a couple months," Enjolras said dryly. After what had happened, Enjolras had fallen out of contact with the other side of the group (not that his own friends had, of course). "I'm doing just fine, thanks. And you?"

"Oh, you know how it is." Joly grinned. "I'm on my way to meet up with a few friends now, actually. Good end to the week."

Enjolras chewed his lip, blinked rapidly. "Is Grantaire there?"

"Um," Joly sighed, "he might be."

"Oh. Right." Enjolras looked down. "How is he?"

"He's fine." The other man nodded. "Doing great, actually."

"Is he happy? What's he doing now?"

Joly’s smile faltered, and he sighed a little. "You know, Enjolras, you're a nice kid and all, but I'm not sure Grantaire would be happy if I just went and-"

"No, no, I understand."

"I mean, if you really want to know, you should try and ask him yourself. When was the last time you two talked?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Four months ago. I guess he wasn't too eager to meet up with the teenager that got him fired."

Joly laughed lightly. "Right, right."

"Joly, I know I don't really have the right to ask this, and you can say no, but..." Enjolras sighed, tugging a hand through his hair. "Do you think I could get his number? Just to call and apologize?"

Joly frowned. "I don't know, Enjolras, he-"

"Please?" Enjolras shifted his weight to his left foot nervously. "I think I need to make things right. Even if he hates me and wants nothing to do with me I- it's the right thing to do."

Joly studied him carefully, grey eyes warm and intense.

He let out a long breath, as if it was hurting him to speak again.

"Okay, here's the thing. You do need to apologize, right? And I know for sure he, uh... well, he really liked you. Now that there's been time to cool off I can help you a little, okay?"

Enjolras nodded eagerly, moving closer as a young man pushing a baby pram squeezed by on the pavement.

"So here." Joly pulled a pen from his pocket, like the typical doctor, and grabbed Enjolras’ hand, scribbling something onto the surprised teen's forearm. "This is his address. You've gotta do this in person. He really liked you; just go over and set things right. Okay?" He smiled at the look on Enjolras’ face. "It'll be fine. Just speak from the heart. And hey!" He gave Enjolras a Look. "You didn't get this from me, understand?"

Enjolras nodded slowly. "Right, right. I understand."

Joly smiled once again. "Excellent! Good luck, Enjolras." He shifted his weight back to his cane again. "And one last thing," he said, mock-serious now. "Don't hurt my friend. Got it?"

Enjolras nodded. "Of course."

And he watched Joly hobble down the street, wondering if that was a promise he could keep and just what might happen at the address scribbled messily on his fair skin.

*

The building was small, in the more bustling and populated part of the city, where romantic tourism gave way to busy industry. Red brick, with ivy tracking up the sides, rickety fire escapes. It was almost exactly what Enjolras had pictured.

The creaky stairwell was quiet and dark, no signs of life from behind the apartment doors except the occasional giggle from a baby, the low murmur of someone on the phone.

He came to a stop outside the door that read _**32**_ , the gold letters shining on the chipped white paint. He hesitated briefly, and then his knuckles rapped loudly against the wood, filling the silence with noise.

There was a small scuffle inside, muffled voices, a muted curse or two. He tentatively knocked again.

_"I'm coming, I'm coming!"_ he called from inside, muffled, more thumping. The door swung open.

And then there was Grantaire, splattered in paint up to his elbows, breathing hard.

"Sorry, I was-" he stopped, blue eyes widening at the sight of Enjolras at his door.

"Hello," Enjolras offered.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, ran a hand through his hair, and Enjolras felt like it wasn't the time to mention Grantaire had just given himself red and gold streaks.

"Uh, hi?" Grantaire leaned against the doorframe. "What are... How did you get this address?"

Enjolras sighed. "Someone gave it to me."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Joly. Fucking- I'll kill him. I really will."

"Can I come in?"

The man in ratty sweatpants and a paint-smeared t-shirt blinked at him, and just when Enjolras had decided it was a lost cause he stepped back, letting the door fall open.

"Sure."

He walked back inside, allowing Enjolras to follow, pulling the door shut behind him.

In the tiny living room Grantaire kicked aside a few thin, frayed blankets on the rough carpet and gestured to the worn, sagging couch.

"Well, here it is. Casa Crap. Take a seat."

Enjolras sat on one end of the couch, pulling his coat off and folding it over the arm of the sofa. Grantaire sunk onto the other end, and Enjolras tried to ignore the fact that it was the farthest point possible from him.

"So. It's been a while," Enjolras said slowly.

Grantaire snorted. "Yeah. Yeah, it has."

"Um... don't tell Joly I told you where I got your address."

"Mmmm. No guarantees." He rubbed his temples with a paint-dried hand. "What can I do for you?"

"I, uh..." Enjolras looked to the floor, at his pristine red converse against the dark carpet. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Right." The blonde squeezed his eyes shut. "I came here to... apologize." He looked back to see Grantaire staring at him. "About the whole... illegal affair. And getting fired. And, uh, being the whole cause for that."

Grantaire nodded, indicating that he understood and nothing more.

"So, that's it." There was a beat of silence. "I'm sorry."

A smile threatened to spread over Grantaire’s face. "Okay."

"Right."

"So..."

Enjolras crossed his arms. "Do you want me to leave?"

"What? Why?"

"I know you're probably upset with me and you have a right to be, so-"

"Enjolras. Enough." Grantaire closed his eyes, shook his head. "Why did you come here?"

He arched a perfect eyebrow. "I told you. I wanted to apologize."

"It's been four months. Four months since we spoke last. And now all of a sudden you just come out of nowhere to my front door. So tell me." Grantaire smiled at last. "Why?"

Enjolras bit his lip. "I... I wanted to see you."

"Uh-huh."

"I missed you."

"I see."

"Dammit, Grantaire, what do you want me to say?" Enjolras snapped.

"I want you to say something you mean. Are you sorry? Are you lying? Why wait so long?"

"Of course I'm sorry! That's what I'm trying to say! I've been trying to tell you that, that I'm sorry, that I've missed you!"

Grantaire sighed and stood up, pacing to the other end of the room. He didn't say anything, and Enjolras drummed his fingers nervously against his knee.

"What are you doing now?" he asked slowly, curling his shoulders in. "For work, you know?"

Grantaire stayed with his back turned to Enjolras, arms crossed, standing in front of the blinded windows. "I teach a class. An art class, at night. Mostly painting, sculpting. It's not much, but-"

"Does it make you happy?"

Grantaire turned to look over his shoulder slightly. "Yes."

Enjolras nodded. "I'm glad."

"It still doesn't detract from the fact that you got me fired. From a really good job. With a grumpy boss and ditzy coworkers and an annoying little intern I can't seem to remember." Grantaire turned around.

"I know. I'm so sorry, it was all my fault. I should've just... turned myself in." He bit his cheek. "I really- I never wanted to hurt you."

"Mm-hmm." Grantaire moved a little closer to him. "What does that mean?"

"It- means I wanted you to stay. With me." Enjolras felt his cheeks turn warm.

Grantaire sat on the couch again. "And?"

Enjolras closed his eyes. "I... I think you should know..." He could feel Grantaire watching him intensely. "That I, uh... I turned eighteen last month."

His eyes fluttered open. Grantaire had a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, like a secret.

"I know I can't be easily forgiven. I don't expect- I don't _want_ to be easily forgiven." Enjolras swallowed. "All I ask for is a second chance."

Grantaire shook his head slightly, smiling, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap.

"Okay. Maybe we should start over," was all he said.

Enjolras laughed a little. He twisted his hands in his lap. "The Intern..." he said slowly. "What was his name?"

Grantaire grinned. "I don't recall." He held out his hand. "I'm Grantaire."

"Enjolras."

They shook hands, painted skin brushing gently against smooth palms.

"You know," Grantaire began, rubbing his palm along his jaw, stubble scraping at the rough skin, "I believe you still owe me one social justice meeting. And a date. At the Corinthe, you promised to come back and listen to more music."

Enjolras smiled, flashing pearly whites and twin dimples. "You're right."

"Or, you know, we could just stay in. I can hear the TV and takeout menu calling to us."

"Actually, I think that sounds amazing."

Enjolras' eyes alighted on the paint splashed all over his counterpart.

"What are you painting?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" Enjolras tentatively reached for his hand, and when it was clear Grantaire wasn't stopping him he pulled it closer. "Reds. Gold, too. Yellow... Orange, here. A sunset?"

"Good guess."

"But I don't know where this blue would fit in," Enjolras continued, turning Grantaire’s hand over in his own to lightly trace the electric blue streak. "You don't tend to see bright blue in sunsets, do you?"

"Imagine that the sunset represents something else. A person. Then, blue would symbolize something else too, no?"

"Like what?"

"Their eyes," Grantaire said evenly.

Enjolras bit his lip to hide a smile. "I see." He took a breath, built courage, twisted his pretty hands in his lap. "Joly said something about... you liked me. Really liked me."

"I'll definitely kill him."

Enjolras shook his head. "Was that- was it the truth?"

"Depends." Enjolras looked back up, and, oh dear, how long had they been sitting this close? Through denim Enjolras could feel the heat of Grantaire’s skin pressing against his. "What do you want the answer to be?"

"Um." Enjolras blinked and tried to regain his speech. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's true for me."

Grantaire laughed, really laughed, and for the first time Enjolras could see his beauty, in his own way. It was beauty in that lopsided grin, beauty in his wild hair and grey-blue eyes and five o'clock shadow and crooked nose. It took the blonde's breath away.

"I'm glad to hear that. And yes, it's true."

Grantaire shifted slightly, an infinitesimal movement, and when he pulled Enjolras into his arms, he didn't resist.

It was a slightly awkward position, with Enjolras halfway in Grantaire’s lap, head tucked between his shoulder and neck, pale hands curled through black hair, Grantaire’s hands resting warmly around his waist.

Enjolras relaxed into Grantaire's arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Grantaire chuckled lowly, pulling Enjolras the rest of the way into his lap, hugging him close.

"I know, Apollo. I know."

"Do you forgive me?"

Grantaire just smiled, brushed his lips against Enjolras’ curly blonde hair, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving interpretation up to the reader. 
> 
> (But things look good.)
> 
> Thank you so much if you've stuck through this fic since January, it means a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed, and that the ending wasn't too horrible. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware that, canonically, Enjolras is his last name. However, here I needed a way to distinguish him from his brother. If you were wondering, Lemaire means "the Mayor" or was used to describe a pretentious, snooty person. It sounded fitting enough for a bourgeois family. Let me know what you think of the story so far, and I'll work on getting a new chapter up. This is also unbeta'd, unless you count Daniel (because I'm lazy), so any feedback is welcome.


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